Power
by LPphreek
Summary: Bulma Brief is a cold, calculating businesswoman with an addiction to power. She has always used power to get what she wants, but when Power decides to use her instead, she has to reevaluate her past choices. Very AU. Rated for future chapters.
1. Prelude

Disclaimer: I do not now, nor will I ever, own Dragonball Z. It belongs to Akira Toriyama.

* * *

><p>Power<br>A Prelude

_"Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men." - Lord Acton_

Bulma Brief was the most powerful woman in the world. Rich, prestigious, brilliant, and beautiful, she was top dog. Only 25 years old and already the president of her father's booming corporation, she was expanding the business to monopolize virtually every market: automobiles, weapons, homes, fashion, everything. Born into a multi-billion zeni family, she always got what she wanted from the day she was born. No one could say "no" to Bulma Brief. Perhaps that was why she was so spoiled and self-absorbed. Of course she had every right to be. She had everything everyone else wanted. She could buy her heart's every desire. Money had never been an issue with her. But she wasn't only powerful economically.

When she became more involved with her father's company, she started making friends in high places in the government. She could sway a politician any way she wanted with the offer of monetary reimbursement and positive media. When Bulma Brief wanted a politician elected into office, there was no doubt that politician would be elected. When she wanted someone out of office, that person might as well start packing. She held the world in the palm of her hand. Everyone bent to her will, and she loved it. She used her power to her advantage.

Sometimes it was lonely at the top. Bulma Brief was a stunning beauty, but she was a single stunning beauty. She had never been able to hold a steady boyfriend for longer than a week. She would find some flaw, consider him unworthy, and break up. The media would have attacked her failed relationships like vultures, but they valued their incomes too much. She would have seen to it that any reporter who dared write a story about her personal life in a negative light would be unemployed and immediately black-listed, never having a hope of finding any job ever again. Honestly, Bulma didn't care that she was alone. Everyone on the planet was inferior and she wasn't about to lower herself for the sake of companionship. Her employees feared and respected her, and her parents let her have her way in everything she did. That was all that mattered to her.

Bulma Brief didn't live by the ethics of Man. She lived by the ethics of Power. If she could somehow gain power, she would, regardless of the cost, regardless of how it hurt another party. She didn't care. She was a goal-driven, cold-hearted, hard-headed businesswoman. She would stop at nothing to make it to the top and stay there. She loved power more than life itself. It was her belief that every person in the world should bow down and worship her. Why not? She was superior. She was the almighty Bulma Brief.

No one dared cross her. The board of trustees walked on eggshells around her. They catered to her whims in board meetings. They allowed her as much money as she wanted for her projects. It wasn't all bad. She rarely made a bad move that cost them. Instead, it was her conniving business tactics that brought them millions.

This isn't to say Bulma Brief was a heartless woman with no compassion. She did use her power for good – when it served her purposes. She donated millions of zeni to non-profit organizations and charities. She sent food and money to poor communities throughout the world, she created a scholarship foundation that gave students hundreds of thousands of zeni annually, and she created her own organization to promote education all over the world. Of course, she was given tax breaks for all her good deeds, but that was irrelevant. At least, it was when she was answering questions in interviews and giving motivational speeches at conferences. Even if anyone suspected her ulterior motives for her acts of kindness, she never heard about them. No one would be foolish enough to question her. That would certainly end badly.

Law enforcement was privy to the fact that Bulma Brief had business competitors "taken care of" when they were too troublesome or uncooperative in business negotiations. That didn't mean they were going to do anything about it, though. She could get away with anything short of genocide. Even then, she might be able to sweet talk her way out of any sort of punishment. It wasn't as if she had to resort to crime often, anyway. Most people were more than willing to go along with whatever she wanted without much persuasion. In a sense, Bulma Brief had the whole world tied around her little finger. She had the politicians on puppet strings, and she had more money and influence than any other individual in history. There may have been a king of the world officially, but in reality it was Bulma Brief who governed the world through her economic might.

Power. She could never have enough of it. At least, she didn't think she could.

_A/N: Ok, so this is going to be a lot different than my other stories. It was an idea that kept me awake last night, so I decided to write it. Trust me, it's a _lot_ different. Note this is rated 'M'. That should tell you something right away. This will be a dark fic. I'm looking forward to writing it. Tell me what you think!_


	2. Chapter 1: Premonition

Chapter 1  
>Premonition<p>

Dread. Bulma felt it all day, but she couldn't figure out why. She had no important board meetings coming up, taxes weren't due, she didn't have to fire any employees, and she hadn't gotten a call from the hospital reporting a tragic accident involving her parents. What, then, was she dreading? She couldn't figure it out. She plodded through the day, shoving the feeling aside whenever it became too overbearing, and focused on her work. She had projects to approve in the research laboratories and interns to hire. She had to figure out what to wear for a live televised interview the next day and meetings to schedule with other companies. She had a new building to design for the growing automotive branch and she was trying to figure out what kind of trees she wanted planted on the grounds of her home. There were many decisions on her plate. That, she convinced herself, was the reason for her dread. She couldn't afford to make a mistake on a single one. Being at the top was a privilege, a careful balancing act. One wrong move and she would topple down. The highest fall the hardest, she reminded herself.

When she left headquarters for her lunch break, she felt as though someone was watching her, just around the corner, no matter where she went. Someone was always watching, waiting. Of course that was ridiculous. Who would be foolish enough to attack Bulma Brief? Wherever she went, she was enclosed in the most foolproof security systems on the planet. They had to be, she designed them herself. No one could break in. No one. She even hired the world's top criminals to test her security. Then, when they failed to make it through, she made further improvements on them. She was safe. No doubt about it. She took a deep breath and released it slowly. It was just nerves, she told herself. Being at the top could certainly be stressful, even to her. She felt watched because, in a way, she _was_ being watched. Everyone in the world knew who Bulma Brief was. Her face was plastered on billboards, she appeared on television regularly, there were stories about her in magazines and newspapers, and several writers had already published biographies about her. She was watched. And loved. No worries.

She still didn't feel better by the time she returned to her office. She slowly sank into her oversized leather chair and rested her arms on her massive desk. Her hands were trembling. As the day progressed she only felt more anxious, as if some sixth sense was telling her something terrible was about to happen. She told herself she was being ridiculous. But no matter what she told herself, the feeling remained, rooted firmly in her mind, and grew. It grew until Bulma could no longer concentrate on her work by mid-afternoon. She stood up and paced back and forth through her office suite. It was nerves. Just nerves. Nothing to be worried about. Finally, she headed to her kitchenette to make herself a relaxing cup of tea. That would calm her down.

Bulma put her tea kettle on to boil and pulled a mug and tea from the cupboard. She leaned against the counter facing her office after she caught herself periodically glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was there, watching. A shiver ran down her spine as she poured the boiling water into her teapot. There was no reasonable explanation for it. She just felt uneasy. Like something dark and evil was lurking around the corner, out of sight, ready to pounce. She shook her head as she added the tea to the water and waited for it to steep.

'Come on, Bulma, get a hold of yourself!' She bit her bottom lip and looked around her office again. Suddenly it seemed _too_ large, too imposing. It was meant to intimidate visitors while providing her comfort. Now, though, it was doing anything but comforting her. After waiting precisely three minutes, she poured her tea into her mug through a strainer to keep out the loose tea leaves. She picked up her mug and carried it to her desk and sat down. She kept her hands wrapped around the warm mug. She stared at the cup, not wanting to face any more paperwork for the rest of the day. But she had two more hours before it was time to go home. That was plenty of time to get more done, and if there was one thing Bulma took pride in, it was her own productivity. She rarely wasted a minute a day. She was always busy, usually multi-tasking. It took a lot of effort running the largest company in the world, but it was worth the hassle.

She sipped her tea and pulled up a project file on her computer to look through. The director of the weapons division was requesting permission to test a prototype and she needed to make sure it was ready for a trial run. She hadn't been keeping close tabs on the weapons; she wasn't terribly interested in them, though her deals with the militia brought in a substantial portion of the company's annual income. Personally, she was more interested in automotives and devices that assisted daily living, such as servant bots, generators, and household appliances. Her father became a world-famous scientist with his invention of the DynoCaps, but she wanted to expand the company beyond that invention. Of course everything Capsule Corporation produced could be capsulated; after all, that _was_ the company's trademark. She felt immense satisfaction when she walked down the street and saw people wearing Capsule Corporation clothing, driving Capsule Corporation hovercars, and talking on Capsule Corporation cell phones. She quickly skimmed through the reports and hastily gave her approval to begin testing.

Bulma continued nursing her tea until her mug was empty. She looked down into the white porcelain, wishing there was just one more drop of the soothing drink, but creating something out of nothing was one thing Bulma could not do no matter how much power she had. She sighed and set her mug on her desk. She whirled her chair around to face the window behind her desk overlooking West City. She hated that it was already growing dark as the sun set. Autumn was coming to a close and winter was rapidly approaching. The temperatures hadn't dropped to freezing yet, but in another couple weeks she would be forced to bundle up when she went outdoors. Of course she had stylish winter clothes, so she wasn't worried about looking bad, but she hated having to wear layers. It was more trouble than it was worth. Her hands were still shaking. This time, she told herself it was because of the caffeine in the tea. She always had an excuse ready.

At five o'clock, Bulma shut down her computer and gathered her belongings up in her briefcase. She put on her leather jacket and walked to her elevator. She glanced over her shoulder one last time. No one was there, no one was watching her. But she felt someone's heavy gaze. She shuddered and pushed the down button. A few seconds passed before she heard the cheerful ding and the elevator doors slid open. She was half expecting a mysterious figure to be inside, waiting for her with a knife tucked in his coat sleeve and a hat that blocked the light from his face. But no one else was on the elevator. She stepped onto it and pushed the button to take her down to the main floor. Her heart leaped in her chest when the doors shut. What if her intuition was trying to warn her that the elevator was broken and she was going to crash to the ground in a terrible, fatal accident? But the elevator did not fall. It slowly, safely lowered her to the main floor and the doors slid open without a hitch.

There were no men with guns waiting for her, no police officer holding out handcuffs for her. She sighed and rubbed her forehead with her free hand. What was wrong with her? She grunted when the receptionist bid her a good night as she walked through the lobby. Her stiletto heels click-clacked across the polished marble tile, echoing through the open area. The only other sound was the babbling fountain on the far side of the lobby. She pushed the door open and a gust of cool air blew in, carrying a few stray leaves with it. They hissed and coughed as they skittered across the floor. Bulma ignored them.

She tightened her jacket around her when the blustering wind tried to pull it off her. She tilted her head down, letting her long, blue hair blow freely in the wind without whipping in her eyes. She watched the ground, her feet moving, pushing her steadily forward across the pavement. When she reached the curb, she pulled a capsule out of the right pocket of her jacket, pushed the plunger, and tossed it on the ground. A bright red convertible appeared in the parking lane, her hand-crafted beauty. She ran her fingers along its smooth hood as she moved to the door to the driver's seat. She opened it, closed the door, and started the ignition. She smiled when she heard its low rumbling purr. A better car had never been produced. She moved her left foot to the clutch, her right foot to the accelerator, and her right hand to the gearshift when she suddenly felt unsure of herself. What if something bad happened while driving? What if she got into an accident? Maybe _that_ was what her intuition was trying to tell her. Her brows furrowed as she bit her bottom lip. If she didn't drive, how was she supposed to get home? Walk? In her heels? Not likely.

She didn't go anywhere for several long minutes. She sat in her car, constantly checking the rearview mirror as she took slow, deep breaths. There was nothing to be afraid of. She drove to and from work almost every day. She had nothing to worry about. Today she would drive extra carefully and obey all the traffic laws for a change. She closed her eyes and silently counted to ten. When she finished, she opened her eyes, checked the rearview mirror, and, seeing it was clear, pulled out onto the street. Twenty minutes later, she was pulling into the driveway of the domed Capsule Corporation compound, the home of her father's company, her home. She parked and climbed out of her car, capsulated it, and returned it to her pocket. She heard the gates close and lock and released a breath she hadn't known she was holding. She was inside, safe. No one could hurt her once she went through those gates.

'Maybe I need a vacation,' she thought. 'The pressure's starting to get to me.' She nodded and walked to the front door of the compound. Her hand stilled on the doorknob as another shiver ran down her spine. She turned her head to look over her shoulder, an act she was entirely sick of repeating. No one stood behind her. No one was on the street watching her. She didn't see anyone peeking through the curtains in the windows of the homes across the street. Nothing moved but the dead leaves blowing across the lawn in the wind. She turned the knob and let herself in, quickly slamming the door closed behind her. She leaned against it, her hand over her pounding heart. 'Yeah, I definitely need a vacation.'

Bulma kicked off her shoes and set her briefcase on the table in the hall. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair and groaned. She had hoped for an immediate sense of relief and safety when she got home, but it didn't come. She felt the same tension, now bordering paranoia. She jumped when the kitchen door opened and her mother came out holding a glass of lemonade.

"Bulma, did you just get home? Would you like a glass of lemonade? I was going to go sit in the living room for a while. Would you like to join me?" Mrs. Brief smiled as she disappeared into the kitchen, apparently having taken Bulma's stunned silence as an affirmative. A minute later she reappeared holding two glasses of lemonade. She handed one to Bulma and walked down the hall to the living room. Bulma followed her and sat down on the loveseat while her mother took a seat in a recliner.

"So how," Bulma's voice rasped. She stopped and cleared her throat. "So how was your day?" She crossed her fingers, hoping all was well at the compound. No experiment mishaps in her father's laboratory, no burned cookies, no broken servant bots. Actually, scratch that. She hoped something minor _had_ happened. Thus satisfied, her crazed intuition would leave her alone.

Mrs. Brief sipped her lemonade. "It was just fine, sweetie. Oh, you should see the crocuses blooming in my garden. They're beautiful!"

"I'm sure they are, Mom. I'll look at them tomorrow when it's light out." Bulma tried to smile, but her disappointment made her lips turn down. "Dad's been alright?"

"Of course, honey. I haven't seen or heard from him since lunch, but he said he was taking the afternoon to practice his putting."

"Of course."

The blonde woman giggled. "I think you spoiled him, taking over the company so young. He doesn't know what to do with himself anymore."

Bulma snorted. "He's loving every minute of it." She took a long drag of her lemonade. "But do you think he'd mind taking the reins for a couple weeks? I would really like to take a vacation. The stress is starting to get to me."

"Oh, no, do you have everything under control?"

This time Bulma laughed. "Yeah, Mom, there's no problems. The board's my bitch and all the branches are producing great work."

"I wish you wouldn't use such coarse language."

"Oh please, Mother." Bulma rolled her eyes and crossed her legs. She wasn't a little girl anymore. She could talk any way she wanted. She was the most powerful woman in the world. She wasn't about to let her mother slap her wrist and wag her finger in her face for using mild profanity.

Mrs. Brief sighed and swirled her lemonade around in her glass. "Well, anyway, I'm sure he wouldn't mind handling the company for a couple weeks. You'll have to talk to him though."

"I will. I don't think there'll be a problem. Nothing big is coming up." Or was there? Maybe she was forgetting something huge. Maybe that was why she couldn't seem to relax. She wracked her brain for any memory of an upcoming event, but there was nothing. She would have to remember to double check her day planner.

Bulma finished her lemonade and chatted with her mother for a few more minutes before she excused herself to go change before dinner. She was tired of wearing her business suit. She grabbed her briefcase on her way upstairs and went to her bedroom. The silence that lay on the other side of her door felt heavy when she walked in to it. Her eyes shifted around her room, checking for any signs of intruders. It was neat and clean. Not by her hand, but the servant bots she programmed to keep her room straightened up for her. She was getting irritated with herself now. There was _nothing_ wrong. She needed to get a grip.

She walked over to her desk and set her briefcase on it. She pulled out her day planner and flipped through the pages to look at all her meetings, appointments, and other events for the next few weeks, but there was nothing big, nothing important. She closed it and put it back in her briefcase. That shot that theory out of the water. She definitely wasn't forgetting anything significant. She never forgot to write anything down in her planner. It was her lifeline. Without it, she would be a total disaster.

When she started pulling off her clothes, she suddenly felt very shy. She hurried over to her balcony doors and closed the curtains. No peeking Tom was going to catch a glimpse of her gorgeous body. She peeled off her blouse and pants and threw them in her dirty laundry. She felt self-conscious standing in her underclothes, a feeling she was unfamiliar with. She had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide. No one was even around to see her. She pushed her hair over her shoulders and pulled a t-shirt and sweatpants out of her dresser. Bulma dressed quickly and sat on the edge of her bed.

'Nothing is wrong, it's just stress. Everything is ok.' Like a mantra her words replayed in her mind over and over, but they did little good. She couldn't convince herself it was true. Something had to be wrong. There was no other explanation for the overwhelming sense of foreboding that was plaguing her mind.

That night Bulma had trouble getting to sleep. She tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position, unable to calm her thoughts. Every shadow in her room looked like a person, there to behead her or kidnap her or some such thing. The wind in the trees outside sounded like someone's breath, so close to her she could almost feel it. She told herself her mind was playing tricks on her. She knew it was, but that didn't assuage her fear. She didn't want to turn on a light. How pathetic would that be? Bulma Brief, most influential woman in the world, scared of the dark. She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to see shadows anymore. She just wanted to sleep. Sleep was safe. There was a creak in the corner of the room. She cracked one eye open. There was a shadow there, from what she couldn't tell. It looked like a black flame moving along the wall. Her breath caught in her throat. She blinked, and it was gone.

'Now I know I'm seeing things.' She closed her eyes and pulled her blanket up over her head. If she couldn't see anything, it couldn't freak her out anymore. Still, it was a long time before she fell asleep.

_A/N: Is Bulma crazy? Or is there something to be afraid of? Guess you'll have to read on to find out! (For those of you wondering, Vegeta's not going to show for a while. This fic is mostly about Bulma, especially in the beginning.) Review!_


	3. Chapter 2: Paranoia

Chapter 2  
>Paranoia<p>

Bulma's anxiety did not lessen over the following weeks. Her vacation did not help; if anything, it made her paranoia worse. She tried to enjoy herself, but she caught herself constantly looking over her shoulder, calling home to make sure her parents were fine and to check up on the company, and avoiding dark or secluded places. She felt safer in crowds, which was irritating to her because she did not particularly like crowds. A celebrity, she had a tendency to attract attention when she least wanted it, with people gathering around her asking to have their picture taken with her or have autographs signed. It was almost humorous in a way. She was no movie star, no pop diva. She was a businesswoman. A very rich, very good businesswoman. It was her money and looks alone that made her famous. Most people overlooked her true genius, innovative ideas, and political lobbying.

Her vacation ended all too quickly – or slowly; she wasn't sure yet – and she went back to work as president of Capsule Corporation. It was easy for her to jump back in and take over where she left off. Leadership was a role she fit into naturally. It suited her more than suntanning on a beach in Mexico. At least when she was busy she had less time to think about the dread that was still hanging over her head like a dark cloud. She had contracts to sign, phone calls to make, research proposals to approve, and meetings to attend. Her job was demanding. It was thrilling. Knowing she had ultimate power over such a huge company gave her goose bumps. She loved every minute of it, welcoming the stress that came with the job.

But that stress might have been taking a toll on her. The anxiety, the sense of dread had been plaguing her for over a month now, and she still couldn't figure out where it came from or why. Everywhere she went, no matter what she was doing, she felt like her every move was being watched. She was accustomed to public scrutiny; but this was different, more malicious. Every time she turned, she expected to find someone creeping up behind her, preparing to kidnap or kill her. Every time she walked to a corner, the palms of her hands became clammy and she had to keep wiping them on her wool pea coat to dry them.

Rather than focusing on the growing stack of paperwork on her desk, Bulma found herself monitoring the security cameras, studying her own security system, and trying to devise ways to upgrade it. She never felt safe, but there was little she could do to improve the security. Capsule Corporation was more secure than a government fort or mint. No one came in aside from authorized personnel, and every one of her employees had extensive background checks before they were hired. Visitors were constantly escorted by security guards, if only to prevent them from sneaking into laboratories or peeking in private files. There was not a single square foot of the building that wasn't under constant surveillance, both by cameras and security guards, who, despite laws against it, carried lethal weapons.

At home, there was almost the same level of security, except without indoor security guards. They roamed the perimeter, which was surrounded by a high, impenetrable wall with only one gate that could only be opened by remotes. The only people who had a remote that could open the gate were the Briefs and the head security officer on duty at any time. On the grounds, the Briefs had adopted many different kinds of animals, including dinosaurs, which freely roamed about the yard. If that wasn't enough to scare off criminals, the grounds were monitored by robots that would scan any living being within the gates, and if that person or animal was unauthorized, the robot would electrically stun the intruder and sound an alarm for immediate response from security personnel. The inside of the compound was under constant camera surveillance and every single door and window remained locked from the inside unless a person was currently in the room.

What, then, could she do to make herself feel safer?

Bulma sat in her desk chair, the fine leather groaning as she shifted into a comfortable position. She had another cup of tea held in her hands; how many cups she'd already downed that morning she couldn't recall. The blueprints for her home security bots were spread out on her desk, but she wasn't looking at them. She had combed over their design a dozen times already and still had no ideas for how to improve them. Frustrated, she shoved the blueprints off her desk and rested her head on its cool, smooth surface. She was utterly miserable. Tired of constantly glancing over her shoulder, jumping at sudden noises, and suspiciously watching strangers, she wanted the peace of mind she lost six weeks earlier.

"The only thing I don't have," she muttered, "is a bodyguard." Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine herself with a burly man with a shaved head wearing a black suit and sunglasses following her everywhere she went. The intimidation factor could, perhaps, be a benefit to her in the board room, but it would be embarrassing to rely on a man to protect her. She was by no means helpless. She carried a pistol in her purse along with a can of pepper spray. On top of that, she kept a taser in her briefcase.

Would it be so unreasonable to hire a bodyguard or two? The only thing she was really concerned about was finding bodyguards she could trust with her life. She needed someone who would take a bullet for her if need be. Few people were truly willing to die to save another, no matter their career choice or who the other person happened to be. It was useless. The only people she trusted anymore were her parents. She had no serious inclination to hire more people who she could only learn about from self-reports, (biased) references, and background checks. People were corruptible. She knew that better than anyone. It was a fact she used to her advantage at any given opportunity, any time it would help her gain power. No, she was not going to hire bodyguards. It was simply too risky.

Bulma propped her elbow on her desk and held her head in her hand. "What if someone kidnaps me? How will anyone find me? Only a professional criminal could manage that feat. They'd know all the tricks to keep me off the radar." She paused, then sat up straight. "Radar… I could implant a tracking device under my skin! Hell, people do it with their pets, why not with a person?"

She groaned and rested her head in her hand again. Answering her own question, she grumbled, "Because it's too undignified."

The blue-haired heiress jumped when she heard someone laughing behind her. She spun her chair around, but no one was there but her reflection in the window. She stared at herself for a moment, horrified by what she thought she heard. She swallowed, but her dry tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Shaking her head, she turned around and picked up her mug to have a sip of tea, but her hands were shaking so badly she could hardly hold the cup without spilling the steaming hot drink in her lap.

She tried to joke, telling herself, "Now you've lost it, Bulma Brief." She laughed humorlessly. "As if talking to yourself wasn't proof enough of that." Her forced smile died before turning down in an uneasy frown as she glanced around the oversized office. Every shadow was ominous, every blind spot foreboding. She put both hands on her mug this time as she raised it to take another quick drink.

Sighing, she sat back comfortably in her chair and closed her eyes, trying to force herself to relax. Being on edge so long was wearing her out. It wasn't even lunch time yet and she was ready for a nap. 'I can't keep doing this,' she chided herself. 'I've got work to do. If I'm behind, the whole company will fall behind. I can't let that happen.' She cracked her eyes open and screamed when she thought she saw a man standing with his back to her on the other side of her desk, but like an illusion he disappeared when she blinked. Heart hammering in her chest, she slowly rose from her chair and inched around her desk until she was standing right where she thought she saw someone.

No one was there. Again her eyes scanned over the office suite, but no one was in sight. She leaned against her desk for support when her knees threatened to buckle under her. "Is – is somebody there?" she breathed.

She whirled around when she again thought she heard someone chuckling darkly behind her. "Yes, little one," said a deep, husky voice that may have been mere imagination, or perhaps the faint echo of a dream from long ago. Her breath hitched as she crumpled to the floor on her knees.

Goose bumps raised on her arms as she looked wildly about the room. She felt like she couldn't breathe as her breaths became short and shallow. 'I'm going crazy,' she thought, 'I've really lost it. Now I'm hearing things.' She held her trembling hand to her chest and felt her heart pounding as she tried to force herself to take deeper breaths before she was overcome with dizziness. Several minutes she sat there, trying fruitlessly to calm herself down, before finally her terror subsided and she could take deep, gulping breaths. Silent tears fell, trickling down her cheeks and dripping from her chin to the soft, white carpet.

"I can't take this anymore," she moaned. Almost half an hour had passed before she pushed herself to her feet and trudged back around her desk, collapsing in her chair. She lifted her mug for a drink of tea, but grimaced when she found it had gotten cold while she was panicking on the floor. Angrily she threw the mug across her office, not caring in the least when it shattered against the wall and its contents splattered, staining her carpet.

Bulma pulled her keyboard over and opened her medical research files. She browsed for a prescription medication for her anxiety problems. Deciding to self-diagnose herself with panic disorder, she looked up all the drugs her company owned to treat the disorder and found a lengthy list. Not wanting to wait days or weeks for the effects of anti-depressants, she opted for an anxiolytic, disregarding the potential consequences. She didn't care if she became dependent on the drug so long as it eased her anxiety _immediately_. Bulma grabbed a post-it and wrote the name of the drug and dosage before packing up her briefcase and grabbing her coat. She wasn't going to stick around headquarters any longer. She was a wreck and she needed to take the rest of the day off. So far she had been unproductive, and it didn't look like that was going to change.

She rushed over to the elevator and pushed the down button. It seemed like hours she spent waiting for the doors to slide open. She pulled up the sleeve of her blouse and checked her watch, tapping her toe impatiently while she waited. Finally, she heard the ding of the elevator as it reached her floor and the doors slid open. Fortunately, it was empty, so she pushed the button to take her to the medical floor. She leaned against the wall of the elevator and rolled her eyes to the ceiling, fighting the paranoia gnawing away at her sanity. It was only a few seconds before there was another ding and the doors opened. Bulma stepped off the elevator and headed straight for the medical supplies, her chin held high as she strode through the halls, nodding curtly or outright ignoring employees as she encountered them.

Once she reached the pharmacy for psychiatric drugs, she looked both ways down the hall and slipped inside unnoticed. She pulled the post-it from her pocket and read it again to be sure she was picking up a bottle of the correct medication. She cringed with each step she took, her stiletto heels clacking noisily on the tile floor. Honestly, she didn't want anyone to know she was self-medicating. It was humiliating, but she was fed up with the anxiety and she was going to do something about it. She vehemently refused to see a counselor or psychiatrist; she was Bulma Brief, and she would not admit to anyone besides herself that she was weak.

When Bulma found the benzodiazepines, she opened her briefcase and tucked a bottle of pills into it, buried beneath more paperwork and her day planner. She looked up, straight at the security camera, and gave it a rude hand gesture before storming out of the pharmacy, no longer caring who saw her leaving. She owned the damn place and everything in it, she had every right to be in there if she wanted to be. Rolling her shoulders back and straightening her back, she stalked back to the elevator with businesslike poise, intending for her authority to shut the mouths of any employees suspicious of her reasons for her brief, unannounced visit to the medical floor.

She pushed the down button for the elevator again. This time she joined a small group of scientists, each wearing a white lab coat. They all greeted her respectfully as she stepped onto the elevator with them, but she only nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. Slowly the elevator lowered them to the main floor where they all filed off and went their separate ways. Bulma click-clacked over to the reception desk and knocked on it to gain the receptionist's attention. The young blonde woman, who had been talking on the phone, looked up and gasped when she saw the company president glaring at her.

Putting her hand over the receiver, she asked, "Is there something I can do for you, Ms. Brief?"

"I'm leaving for the day. Cancel all my meetings and appointments, I don't care." She turned away to leave, buttoning her coat up.

"But, Ms. Brief!" the receptionist called, "You're supposed to meet with the board of Red Ribbon, Inc this afternoon."

Bulma spun around on her heel and scowled. "I said I don't care! Their company is falling apart and they _need _this acquisition. If they know what's good for them, they'll agree to a meeting at a later date." She huffed indignantly, then turned again and marched out of the lobby.

She was chilled to the bone as she was hit by the frigid December wind, but she held her head high as she walked to the street. She stopped at the curb and pulled her hovercar capsule out of her pocket and threw it in the parking lane. Checking for traffic, she ran around the car and climbed in the driver's seat and set her briefcase in the passenger seat. She turned on the engine, then leaned over and opened her briefcase to pull out her new medication. She opened the bottle, picked out one of the pills, and put it in her mouth, swallowing it with only a faint grimace at the bitter taste.

When she reached the old Capsule Corporation compound, Bulma smiled weakly and drove through the gate. It was wonderful to be home, even if she still had a sense of dread nagging at the back of her mind. She grabbed her briefcase and got out of her car, not bothering to capsulate it before going inside to find her mother. Once inside the front door, she slipped her shoes off and laid her briefcase on the hall table before hanging her coat in the closet.

"Mom?" she called. "Are you here?"

"Bulma, is that you? I'm in the kitchen, sweetie," came the sing-song reply.

Of course she was in the kitchen. Where else would she be? Bulma chuckled to herself as she walked through the door and found her mother standing in front of the stove sautéing vegetables. Mrs. Brief glanced up when she heard her daughter come in and smiled. "Are you home for lunch, dear? I've almost finished some stir fry."

"Actually, Mom, I'm not going back to work. I needed a day off," Bulma sighed. She sat down at the table and rested her feet on the opposite chair.

"A day off? But honey, you just had a vacation a few weeks ago." Mrs. Brief turned off the fire and pulled three plates out of the cupboard.

"I know that!" Bulma snapped. She didn't need to be reminded that she was taking yet another day off after having a two week vacation only a month ago. "I just haven't been feeling well lately, that's all." Though she was feeling a bit better since taking the anti-anxiety drug. It worked fast, which was the sole reason she chose it.

Mrs. Brief carried the plates of stir fry over to the table and sat down. "Oh my, you're not getting sick, are you?"

Bulma waved her hand dismissively. "No, it's nothing like that. I'm just tired." She wasn't about to tell her mother that she was having hallucinations too. Hearing a strange voice and seeing a man in her office who wasn't there wasn't exactly normal. Even to her parents she wanted to appear strong on the outside. Maybe mentally she was a wreck, but she would never show it, not to anyone.

They were joined a few minutes later by Dr. Brief. He was vaguely surprised to see his daughter sitting in the kitchen with his wife, but he shrugged it off. It wasn't unheard of for her to come home for lunch now and then. The little black cat on his shoulder meowed in greeting as he took his seat at the table and kissed his wife's cheek. "I didn't expect to see you home so early today," he said to Bulma.

She shrugged. "It's not a big deal. I can do some work from home today. I needed to get away from the office for a while."

The old scientist nodded as he picked up his chopsticks to begin eating. He wanted to ask her what sort of work she had to do, but he learned early after she practically stole the company from him that she wanted him to stay out of her business. He was no longer the president and served mainly as a mechanical engineer and consultant when she needed him. He hadn't particularly minded handing the reins over to her; she was eager to run the company and he was much more interested in tinkering around in his laboratory all day. Still, it was the company he founded and he did want to be a bigger part of it than she was often willing to allow.

Bulma stood up when she was finished eating. "Thanks for lunch, Mom. I'll be in my lab if you need me." She walked out of the kitchen and retrieved her briefcase from the table before heading to her old laboratory. She used to spend most of her days in there, building new machines, improving old ones, drawing blueprints, imagining all the different directions her father's company could go with her leadership. Now she was head of the company and had little time to play around with car engines and computer chips. Still, she felt comfortable in her laboratory as she went over and sat at her old desk, propping her feet up on it while she opened her briefcase in her lap.

It was December, thus it was time for end of the year evaluations of the company department heads. She started reviewing their files, including their budgets, expenses, research, hiring and firing, and days absent. She was reading through the director of weapons testing when she thought she felt someone's breath on her neck. She turned her head, expecting to see one of her parents' pets that occasionally strayed into her laboratory when she forgot to latch the door, but there was nothing there. Instantly she broke out in a cold sweat.

"He-hello? Is someone there? Come out!"

She gasped when she felt the breath on her neck again. It was gentle, warm. But it sent shivers running down her spine. No one was there, she shouldn't be feeling anything at all. "You can't escape me, little one." Bulma shook her head, not sure she heard the same voice from earlier. The voice, if that's what it was, was so faint she hardly understood it. She frowned and turned back to her employee files. If she refused to think about it, it would go away. She was done acting like a scared little girl. She was Bulma Brief, most powerful woman in the world!

By the time Mrs. Brief knocked on her laboratory door to summon her for dinner, Bulma had read through all the files – and decided to fire almost half of her department heads. She couldn't quite explain why, but she felt she couldn't trust them. It wasn't that they were overspending their budgets or going ahead with projects she didn't approve, but something told her she needed to get rid of them. They were a threat to her power, they would eventually try to overthrow her as president of the company. It was ridiculous and unfounded, but it was a feeling she couldn't shake. And Bulma Brief always listened to her intuition. It was what got her so far in life; it was never wrong.

Sighing, Bulma stood up and left her laboratory to go to the kitchen for dinner. She found her parents both sitting at the table already waiting for her. She smiled as she took her seat and started serving herself some of the pork roast her mother prepared. She felt better now that she had finally managed to get a hold of herself and finish some work that should have been done over a week ago.

"Are you feeling better, dear?" Mrs. Brief asked as she passed the spinach salad.

The blue-haired heiress nodded. "Yeah, I finally got through all my employee files." She paused, deciding if she should report her news or not. In the end, her pride won out, so she continued, "I'm going to fire half my department heads. Now I just need to think of some legitimate excuses why."

Dr. Brief nearly choked on his food. Bulma was firing so many employees, all at once? With no real reason? He lowered his gaze to his plate and started pushing his food around, his appetite suddenly gone. Most of the department heads were loyal employees who had been with him since the beginning. Over the years they had been promoted until they achieved their current positions. Some of them had been department heads since the very beginning; several of them were his closest friends. Bulma wouldn't fire them, would she?

"Bulma," he said hesitantly, pausing to scratch behind his cat's ears, "Are you sure it's a good idea firing so many of them at once? Who will replace them?"

"I don't know yet," she grumbled, "But I think it'll be better for the company if I let them go. Some of them are so old they can't come up with new ideas anymore." She nodded to herself, considering that an adequate excuse for firing at least a handful of them. In the end, it really didn't matter why she was firing them. She was the president of the company and she could fire anyone at any time for no reason. No one would be foolish enough to try suing her; Bulma Brief had the best legal team in the world, and they had never lost a case.

After Bulma left to go do a little more work before bed, Dr. Brief turned to his wife and smiled sadly. "I don't know what's gotten into that girl, dear. It isn't like her to make such reckless decisions for the company. Maybe she can't handle the stress."

Mrs. Brief cupped her husband's cheek and lightly kissed him. "Don't worry, dear, I'm sure she knows what she's doing."

He sighed, nodding slowly. "I hope you're right."

Bulma sat down at the desk in her laboratory and turned on her computer. She checked her email to make sure there had been no emergencies at headquarters since her abrupt departure, then read through the contract concerning Red Ribbon, Inc. It was a company that, in the beginning, had been a rival to Capsule Corporation. They had many of the world's leading scientists who had come up with a capsule similar to DynoCaps. Unfortunately for them, they were much more limited in capacity and tended to malfunction or wear out significantly faster than DynoCaps. Now their company was facing a financial crisis, and the only way to save it was to join with another, more profitable company. However, despite its sad state, the board of Red Ribbon was asking a high price for their company, and only Capsule Corporation could afford the acquisition. There had been a struggle to make it a merger, but in the end, Bulma Brief won out. She grinned smugly as she read through the contract. There were few compromises; it was almost exactly as _she_ wanted it. The board be damned, it was her company.

She had barely finished reading the contract when her vision started to blur and a wave of fatigue hit her hard. Yawning, she set the contract aside and stretched her arms over her head. It wasn't all that late yet, but she was too tired to stay awake much longer. 'Must be the drugs,' she thought. They were supposed to have some side effects, including sedation and fatigue. 'Oh well, guess that's the down side of actually being able to concentrate on work for a change.'

She packed up her briefcase and carried it upstairs to her bedroom. She laid it on her desk and started pulling her clothes off. It was only when she stood there wearing only her panties that she felt like she wasn't alone in her room. Slowly, hesitantly, she turned around, covering her breasts with one arm while the other opened her briefcase and pulled out the taser.

"Who's there?" she demanded. In her vanity across the room she was shocked to see herself, her eyes wild with fear, her hand clutching her taser. It was pathetic. She sighed and tossed the taser back in her briefcase.

"No one is in here but me," she mumbled. Shaking her head, she pulled a pair of pajama pants and a tank top out of her dresser and put the pants on. She was about to put on her top when she felt something scrape along her neck, something sharp. She gasped and swung her arm around to ward off her assailant, but again no one was there.

"Who's there?" she shouted. "Stop fucking with my head, just show yourself!"

There it was again, that horrible laughter. It might have risen from the depths of hell the way it seemed to wind around her very soul and squeeze the life from it. "Not yet, little one."

Her chest heaved with her heavy panting as she turned from side to side, hands balled into fists. She shrieked when she thought she felt large, calloused hands on her shoulders. Jumping forward, she spun around again and searched her room for the mysterious intruder, someone who could seemingly move faster than the eye could see. For the second time that day, she felt tears trickling down her cheeks. She was absolutely terrified but too proud to admit it.

There was a soft knock on her door. "Bulma? Sweetie, are you alright?"

Bulma wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She took a deep breath and nodded, though her mother couldn't see her. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just frustrated with something that came up with work."

She sighed when she heard her mother's quiet footsteps moving back down the hall to her parents' bedroom. "I've lost my mind, that's all there is to it," she said snidely. She picked up the shirt she had dropped a minute ago and put it on before going over to her desk to get the bottle of pills out of her briefcase. She popped one in her mouth and swallowed. It probably wasn't a safe thing to do, considering she wasn't yet used to the medication and she had already had one daily dose earlier, but at this point she didn't care. She hid the bottle in her briefcase before going to her bathroom to get ready for bed.

She stared at herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth, wondering when she had become so mentally unstable. First it was the anxiety, but now it was unquestionable paranoia she was experiencing. On top of that, she was hallucinating, and not just by hearing little sounds or seeing a faint glimmer of light from the corner of her eye. She was hearing complete sentences – she thought – and seeing full bodies standing in front of her and now she was feeling things, things far too real to discount easily.

"I don't know what's going on," she told her reflection once she spit out the frothy toothpaste, "but it's got to stop. This medication better help soon or I'm going to lose it. Hell, I could lose everything if anyone finds out about this. What if the board thinks I'm incompetent as president? What if – oh Kami, what if the press finds out Bulma Brief is going crazy?"

What if she couldn't save herself from madness? What if she was truly sinking into the depths of insanity, never to rise again? She couldn't let that happen. She had too much to lose. She would fire every employee who ever doubts her and personally oversee all the projects in her fields. She would keep herself so damn busy she wouldn't have time to listen to phantom voices. She would overtake more competing businesses, become more politically active, the whole nine yards. She would show the world she was still on top. She was the ruler of the world, even if she didn't hold the title of King.

_A/N: I know it's been a while since my last update. I have to be in the right mood to write this one if I hope to keep it dark and creepy. Even this chapter seems a bit... upbeat. At least, it does to me. So, on that note, I wanted to put out a help wanted ad (I've been reading a lot of these lately):  
><em>

Beta Reader  
>Must have extensive knowledge of English<br>language. Beta experience preferred. Must  
>be willing to criticize and kick author in pants<br>to write chapters regularly. Now accepting  
>applications by review or pm to LPphreek.<p>

_I'd ask my beta for _Homeless Boy_ to do it, but I don't want to overwhelm her with stuff (of course, if you're reading this and want to do it, I'd be willing to let you. I trust you). So, if you're interested let me know. I'd really appreciate the help._


	4. Chapter 3: Insomnia

Chapter 3  
>Insomnia<p>

Bulma dragged herself into the Capsule Corporation headquarters, a tall cup of latte spiked three times with espresso held in her left hand. The steaming beverage was the only source of life she had, but it wasn't enough to hide her fatigue from her employees anymore. Blood-shot eyes and dark circles under them, pale skin, messy hair, slumped shoulders, and a slower stride gave away her utter exhaustion to any who saw the company heiress. She pushed the button for the elevator with her elbow as she turned around to lean heavily against the wall, a long, quiet sigh escaping her chapped lips.

She set her briefcase down next to her and rubbed her forehead with her free hand. So tired, all she could think about was how much she wanted a decent night's sleep. She hadn't had one in over two months. Every night was the same. It took her almost three hours to fall asleep, then once she was asleep she would either wake from terrible dreams or she would sleep restlessly through them. Either way, she never woke up rested, and there was no point in calling off work to catch up on sleep because it wouldn't work anyway. Already she had raided the company's pharmacy for sleep aids, but so far they did little to help; actually, she had gotten to the point of dependency on at least two of them and had to force herself to give them up before she suffered any other ill effects. They didn't put her to sleep or keep her asleep anyway.

After waiting a minute, she pulled up the sleeve of her suit jacket to check her watch. It wasn't bright and early. Actually, it was a quarter after ten in the morning and she was just arriving. She had already missed an important board meeting. With a tired groan she picked up her briefcase when the elevator finally opened and she stepped into it, providing identification when prompted to reach her office suite on the top floor of the building. The elevator started its ascent and she again leaned against the wall, her head tilted back to see her reflection in the mirror ceiling. She frowned when she saw herself, unappreciative of the dark bags under her eyes she could no longer hide with makeup. Haggard. That was the best way to describe her appearance of late.

Barely noticing the ding as the elevator reached her floor, she trudged into her office when the door slid open. Everything was the same as it always had been, with the oversized desk in front of the window that spanned the wall, the same leather furniture, a kitchenette off to one side, and a door that led into a lavatory. But now each time she entered her office she felt a cold chill pass over her, as if she were haunted by her own powerful presence. It wasn't her, of course, that was putting her on edge, but rather the feeling of dread that still lingered and the memory of a disembodied whisper and an apparition of a man. Since that day two months ago she hadn't seen or heard anything else, but she could practically feel whatever it was lurking around her, never felt more strongly than when she was here, in what used to be her sanctuary.

Slowly she walked toward her desk, greedily gulping down the last dregs of her latte, hoping that the caffeine would somehow energize her enough to get through another rough workday. Then she nearly tripped up the step to her desk and cursed as some of her drink dripped onto her blouse, staining it. She was still grumbling to herself and trying to rub it off with a tissue when the phone rang. Startled, she nearly dumped more coffee on herself, snarling angrily as she slammed her cup down on the desk and picked up the receiver.

"What?" she hissed into the phone.

"M-Miss Brief?" she heard a man ask nervously. It was gratifying to know she could still strike fear into the hearts of men, even if he was a sniveling coward to start with. She already knew it was the assistant to the director of the automotive division.

"Who _else_ would answer my phone?"

"Oh, right. Well, you see, Mr. Buford needs to, uh, cancel his meeting this afternoon."

Bulma's eyes narrowed. "What do you _mean_ he has to cancel his meeting?"

"It's um, just that he hasn't quite finished drawing up the uh, the plans you wanted."

Her knuckles were white from gripping the phone so tightly. "You tell him he'll finish them and present them at the meeting this afternoon or he can start cleaning out his office immediately." Without waiting for a reply she slammed the phone down and stormed around her desk to collapse into her chair.

She could hardly believe the nerve of that man! Mr. Buford had been promoted to director of automotives when she fired the old director. She _had_ thought he would be capable of handling the position, but she was clearly mistaken. This wasn't the first time he failed to meet a deadline she set, and he had only been in the position for two months. Without sleep she was less able than usual to handle frustration; her employees should know better than to cross her. Holding back a yawn, she picked up her latte and finished it off, tossing the empty cup in the trash. If today was like the previous three weeks, the trash can would be full of coffee cups by the time she went home.

Caffeine wasn't even enough to keep her head clear, so she wasn't sure why she continued to bother with it. Maybe because by now she was addicted and didn't want to deal with the headaches that would surely come if she quit drinking it in copious amounts. She knew she wasn't doing herself any good by downing coffee, but at this point she would do anything to stay awake. There was nothing more embarrassing than waking up with her face sticking to the table in a puddle of drool during a board meeting. She was able to explain it away once, but she couldn't let anything like that happen again. So, forcing herself to make do with three or four hours of sleep a night, she continued coming in to work every day.

Not even sure where to start anymore, she turned on her computer to check her email. She waited impatiently for it to boot up, and when it did she almost had to hold back a sob when she saw how many urgently marked emails were waiting in her inbox. There was no way there could be _that_ many emergencies in her company in one morning. Out of frustration and exhaustion she deleted them all without reading them. If anything was important, another message would be sent later or a phone call would be made.

She had never felt so out of control before in her life. Barely able to make it from one moment to the next, she felt like she was falling into a deep abyss. Her moodiness, already a legend, had become even worse to the point where even the few employees who hadn't been scared of her now took great pains to avoid crossing paths with her. She would walk through the halls of headquarters barking orders, issuing threats, and shouting complaints criticizing almost everything she saw. Nothing anyone did was good enough for her, including herself. Bulma knew the quality of her work was suffering; she made several bad investments, botched a merger, and made serious errors in calculations that led to defective products. She was beginning to think it was time to try the hands-off approach to running the company instead of trying to micro-manage everything.

But she couldn't. No, Bulma Brief was in charge and she wanted to personally see to it that every aspect of her booming corporation was running smoothly like a fine-tuned engine. It was better for her to stay involved in about everything going on at headquarters. It was tiring, stressful, and at times irritating, but she didn't trust her employees to not make a mess of things if left unattended for too long. She definitely wasn't going to take a step back. It would have been easier, but she decided she was going to take even more control over the goings-on at Capsule Corporation. When she started feeling out of control, even powerless, she clung even tighter to what she had and worked to gain more power. She would not be evicted from her position as most powerful woman in the world. Even if it meant losing her mind and losing sleep, she was going to stay on top and put so much distance between herself and the leading competitor that there was no way she would ever be overtaken.

With a weary shake of her head, she started reviewing recent purchases of raw materials for manufacture in the building sector of her company. That particular division had been having trouble staying within its budget and maintaining the strict efficiency she demanded. Either the head of the division was incompetent or she had overlooked something when she made a deal with the company she bought the materials from. After an hour of searching through her records, she found the prices were inflated and some of what they had been receiving was of sub-standard quality. When she saw what was going on she growled low in her throat and slammed her fist down on her desk.

"That son of a bitch!" she snapped. She reached over and picked up her phone and dialed the number of the CEO of the building materials company, rage burning in the pit of her stomach. If there was one thing she had zero tolerance for, it was being cheated by another company that was largely dependent on her business for success.

The phone rang four times before someone picked up on the other end. "Hello, you have reached the office of Mr. Conneer."

Bulma's lip curled contemptuously. She resented having to go through a secretary to get to the jugular of the company. "This is Bulma Brief. I demand to speak with Mr. Conneer immediately."

There was a short pause. "M-Ms. Brief, I'm sorry, but Mr. Conneer is currently in a meeting."

"I _said_ immediately," Bulma replied icily. "Or you can expect your company to be out of business within the hour."

She heard an audible gulp on the other end. The secretary finally managed to squeak out, "Yes, Ms. Brief, please hold." Bulma barely heard the last word spoken before the obnoxiously cheerful hold music started playing. She decided if she had to wait longer than two minutes she was breaking her contract with the company and buying supplies from someone else.

Not even a minute later the music was cut off when Mr. Conneer picked up the phone and greeted her cordially, "Hello, Ms. Brief. How may I help you?"

By then Bulma was practically seething with rage. "I want to know why you've been selling me overpriced products, half of which have to be returned because they're in poor condition!"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Brief, but I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't seen any reports on this."

Finely manicured nails rapped against an oversized mahogany desk. "Stop lying to me, Mr. Conneer. You thought I wouldn't notice. Now, either you cut the prices by fifty per cent or you can take your business elsewhere. But I guarantee you'll have a hard time finding anyone interested in your services once I'm through with you."

There was a long pause. She could mentally picture the man scratching the bald spot on the back of his head, his lips moving as he silently considered what to do. He knew better than to try going head-to-head with the president of Capsule Corporation, but he would also be losing some serious profit if he gave in to her demands. But he would be doing himself an even greater fiscal disservice by denying her demand; he knew she was perfectly capable and willing to tear his company apart with bad media and through her personal and business networks.

"And," she added after she thought she had given him adequate time to ponder her threat, "If I don't see an improvement in quality with the next shipment, you can consider our deal off."

"Yes, Ms. Brief," he said. She thought his tone sounded rather defeated. That's the way she liked it. A little ego boost never hurt, reminding her she was the highest on the totem pole.

"Very good. I expect to see a report on why you've been sending me trash for the past eight months this afternoon. Good day." With a triumphant huff she returned the phone to its cradle and propped up her feet on the desk. "Bastard."

Her triumph soon wore off as she returned her attention to the towering stack of paperwork on her desk. There was so much to get done and she hardly had the mental capacity to deal with it anymore. She was still a master at intimidation, but that wasn't going to be enough to keep her company running for long. Running her fingers through her hair, she exhaled slowly and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. If only she weren't so tired she might be able to concentrate on something long enough to get it done well.

With a shrug she grabbed the top packet of papers from her desk and started scanning through it. Reports on her company's finances and projected earnings for the next quarter. She found herself staring at the graphs and charts blankly, not truly comprehending what she was seeing. Growing increasingly frustrated with herself, she dropped the report down on her desk and got up to make some coffee. She was already feeling jittery from the pot of coffee she drank at breakfast and the latte she downed on the way to headquarters, but that didn't deter her from using another pot of coffee as a crutch to stay awake.

"Damn it," she muttered. "Why can't I just get some sleep? All I need is one night without waking up a hundred times."

While her coffee was brewing, she went back over to her desk and opened her briefcase, pulling out the bottle of anxiety medication. Not sure if it was the reason her paranoia had lessened somewhat over the past few weeks, she kept taking it. Though, she had to admit, with all the caffeine she was ingesting she was rather high-strung and anxious even with it. Maybe it wasn't effective at all. Not that it mattered. Even if it was nothing but the placebo effect, she wanted to stop feeling like she was in grave danger every moment of every day.

As she popped a pill in her mouth, she thought she heard someone behind her. She whirled around, expecting to see the elevator door closing behind a director of some company division, but there was no one there. She scowled at the empty room as if daring it to start with the mind games again. Though she still had the nagging sense of dread in the undercurrents of her subconscious, she had mostly been able to ignore it. Now, when she outright thought maybe she was getting better, it starts again. The paranoia, hallucinations, foreboding. No. Shaking her head, as if telling herself no would be enough to keep her sane, she marched over to the kitchenette and poured herself a cup of coffee.

And for the rest of the afternoon she didn't suffer from any severe problems. From time to time she would think she saw some motion out of the corner of her eye, and sometimes she thought she heard a faint whisper – more like a deep, rumbling purr – but it was never enough to distract her much from her work. Her fatigue was more problematic than her imagination. If anything, she was simply starting to not care if she _was_ being haunted by some sort of office ghost or other such nonsense. She was Bulma Brief, and she would not cower in fear because of some incorporeal pest. Even if it was only in her own mind.

Now, if only she could control herself so well in her sleep. Or even when she was trying to go to sleep. That was when she was vulnerable to the fear and apprehension that kept creeping into the back of her mind. The feelings had seemingly taken up unwelcome residence in her psyche, and no matter how much medication she took to rid herself of the paranoia, it was still there, still clawing at her most noticeably when she lay down at night to rest. During the day it had actually become a source of motivation to work harder. Despite being incredibly exhausted, when she buried herself in work she was able to forget about it, push it to the side as if shelving it for the day only to inspect late at night when she had nothing else on her mind. Surprisingly, she had made her company even more successful financially and started a new marketing campaign that was highly effective and affordable since losing out on sleep. She made more deals with rival companies, merged two, and ran at least a dozen into the ground. She was unmerciful to the competition and had no qualms about putting others out of business, often picking up the best employees from the failed businesses. Hence, Capsule Corporation had a growing, outstanding team of scientists and engineers who kept her company progressing ahead of the rest. Lack of sleep was harming her physically, but in a way she appreciated the way it gained her greater power, even if she felt like she was falling apart and sinking under the pressure of her position. Sometimes it was so bad she hardly cared anymore, but she would force herself to continue her work with a newfound drive to compensate for her apathy.

Finally five o'clock rolled around and Bulma packed up her briefcase and sent a few memos to her employees working the next shift. While the rest of the city slept, Capsule Corporation was still working around the clock. It was only in the past three years that she started hiring a team of third shift employees, but she was pleased with the results. Even more innovations were made when her company was running all day and all night. Yawning, Bulma shut down her computer and pulled her coat on. She didn't bother looking over her shoulder when she thought she felt someone breathing down her neck, instead picking up her briefcase and striding over to the elevator to leave.

"Good evening," she bit out sarcastically. If anyone was really there, he laughed. Once the door to the elevator opened she stepped onto it and pushed the button to take her down to the main floor. The door reopened and she click-clacked across the polished tile to the doors, nodding her goodbye curtly to the receptionist. She held her head high as she made her exit though her body felt like it was a strange combination of lead and jelly. Heavy, sluggish, wobbly, weak. Each step she took was strenuous. Kami, she needed sleep. Real sleep. But she doubted she would get any no matter how tired she was.

That night she went to bed early, ignoring the work she brought home to look over in preparation for the next day. She no longer cared about all the reports and contracts she needed to read. With her belly full of succulent roast beef and homemade bread, she retired to her bedroom, hardly able to drag herself up the stairs. It was difficult explaining to her parents that she was fine, not coming down with an illness, not needing a break from work as it had been every night for at least a month and a half. Was her exhaustion really so obvious? She knew it was. Even if she could hide the physical signs, she was unable to stop herself from snapping at them with excessive venom, a clear indicator of her need for rest.

Bulma sat on the edge of her bed, her briefcase held limply in her hands. She was almost ashamed of herself for the way she talked to her parents at dinner. Criticizing her father's management style when he offered a rare piece of input on how she should run the company, explicitly telling her mother she didn't care about anything having to do with gardening or baking. She dropped her briefcase and rested her face in her hands. What was happening to her? Why was she falling apart like this? It couldn't be the stress of her job. She thrived on that. It made adrenaline pump through her veins, giving her an edge when she needed to push her plans in meetings or when she had to deal with slacking employees or business partners.

Adrenaline overdrive? Was she just _too_ hyped up on her own hormones to be able to rest well? Doubtful. She had been running on adrenaline for a long time before this insufferable insomnia started. After sitting still for a few minutes, she finally opened her briefcase and took out the bottle of pills. They rattled against the plastic bottle, the sound low and hollow. Almost empty. Frowning, she opened it and took out another pill, put it in her mouth, and swallowed. It wouldn't help, she already knew that. But she clung to the hope that maybe her anxiety would ease enough for her to sleep soundly through the night. And not have that terrible recurring dream…

She stood up abruptly, accidentally pushing her briefcase onto the floor. Papers flew out and her taser bounced under the bed. Rolling her eyes, she lowered herself to her hands and knees and started gathering the papers, now out of order. Her hand stopped when she saw one of the papers was a copy of a newspaper article. The headline ran "CC MONOPOLIZING GLOBAL MARKET?" She slid the paper closer to her so she could read the article. She snorted as she skimmed through it; obviously Capsule Corporation was taking over every area of industry. It was knocking out its competitors with minimal effort and growing stronger and wealthier with each passing day. Their stock was through the roof and every aspiring scientist was clamoring for an opportunity to work at her corporation. Was that so wrong? The writer of this article seemed to think so. Something about it being unlawful, bad for the overall economy, and that it was giving one person (Bulma Brief) too much power even over the government.

Biting her bottom lip, Bulma logged the name of the journalist in her memory. She would see to it that this person never wrote for another newspaper or magazine. Hell, she wouldn't even be able to write a blog when Bulma was through with her. Along with that she made a mental note to try to keep her business dealings low-key for a while. She certainly wasn't going to give up her global domination, but she could at least keep the public from going into an uproar and fighting to keep her in check. She was Bulma Brief, damn it, and no one was going to limit her as she fought to gain more power, greater prestige, and higher fame. The world answered to her, not the other way around.

Her anger soon dissipated as a fresh wave of exhaustion overcame her. She pushed her hair back behind her ears and finished picking up the papers and her taser, packing them away in her briefcase for tomorrow. Instead of standing up to get ready for bed, she sat back on her heels and leaned against the side of the bed, resting her head on the soft comforter. It would take so much effort to stand. Mustering up what little energy she could find, she slowly raised herself to her feet and stood on shaky legs, wobbling from side to side as she tried to keep her balance.

"Why can't I sleep?" she murmured. "Just one night…"

Ignoring what may have been someone snickering, she started undressing, leaving her clothes on the floor to pick up later as she pulled on her pajamas. Turning, she shuffled to her bathroom, nearly tripping as her feet got caught up in the clothes on the floor. She grumbled angrily as she kicked them aside before making it to the bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror a long time staring at her reflection. It disgusted her how old she looked. So old she couldn't cover it with makeup, though she tried anyway. She stifled a yawn as she brushed her hair and pulled it up into a ponytail so she could wash her face and brush her teeth.

Once she was ready for bed, she trudged back into her bedroom, the bottoms of her feet rubbing against the soft carpet. Her room was slightly chilly, but she liked it that way. It made sliding under the warm blankets much more satisfying and she would curl up with the covers twisted around her like a cozy cocoon. Yawning once more, as if to convince herself she was indeed tired and in need of sleep, she pulled the covers back and got into bed, switching off the light before lying down.

It was in the darkness that her paranoia came full-force. Bulma squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the shadows creeping across the wall and over the ceiling, haunting her. She didn't want to see the black flame or hear the low growling voice speaking in the deepest parts of her mind. She didn't want to feel like she was being watched, even toyed with. All she wanted was to shut it all out and go to sleep quickly, stay asleep, and not be plagued with unsettling dreams. Dreams where she had no control, where she was weak and powerless, subjects to the whim of someone greater. Someone she couldn't even see, someone she could never know.

After resting on her back for a few minutes, the blue-haired heiress rolled onto her left side and slowly released a deep breath. Eyes still closed, she buried her face in her pillow and pulled her blanket up over her head. Anything to block out the looming shadows. She felt like a child hiding from the monster in her closet or under her bed. There was nothing there, she knew there wasn't, but that didn't quell her fear. She wondered as she did every night what was wrong with her. Why couldn't she sleep? Why couldn't she calm her mind enough to find rest? Groaning, she flipped over to her other side and peeked above her covers to see the clock on her nightstand. She had only been in bed for ten minutes. It felt like hours.

Closing her eyes again, she tried to think of anything but the feeling of being watched, that she wasn't alone in her room. She thought of better ways to control the media, a new marketing strategy for the struggling clothing line, and which piece of land she should buy for a new warehouse. But no matter how much she tried to occupy her mind, she couldn't ignore the paranoia any longer. During the day, she had control over it. At night, it was unmanageable. Tonight was no different. After trying for half an hour to take her mind off it, she gave up and groaned as she rolled over yet again, making sure not to glance at the clock, knowing it would only frustrate her more to see how much time she wasted lying there without sleeping.

"I'd do about anything for some sleep," she whispered to her pillow.

"Not yet, but soon you will." Her eyes opened wide. It was hard to tell if that voice was in her mind or if it was real. The same husky voice she thought she heard before. Raising a trembling hand, she pushed her covers down to her chin and looked around her room. Only shadows. She swallowed and flipped the covers back over her head.

'This is ridiculous,' she thought rationally. 'No one is here, no one is talking to me. Stop being so stupid! Just go to sleep and you'll feel better in the morning. And you won't hear any imaginary voices anymore.' Nodding to herself, she forced her tense muscles to relax. Still, it was a long time before she finally sank into a restless slumber.

_She glanced down at her bare feet, the cold marble floor sending a chill through her body. She didn't have to see to know she was naked, so instead she lifted her chin to look around the dark space. As she expected, the floor was a white and black checkered board, and she was standing on a black square. Around her were life-size chess pieces. They weren't under her control; her own movements were not of her own volition. No matter how strongly she willed herself to step to another square, she couldn't unless some unseen outside force pushed her. It was frustrating, enraging, terrifying._

_ Across the board, she saw a knight move forward one row and across three squares to her right, putting her in jeopardy. She wondered what piece she was playing. At different times she was different pieces; sometimes a pawn, other times a bishop or rook, even the king. But never was she the queen, easily the most powerful piece in chess. She didn't think it was a coincidence._

_ She was still pondering her position when she was shoved diagonally to the square to her right, keeping her out of harm's way. Apparently she wasn't a pawn this time since that wouldn't be a legal move for one. Neither was she a knight or a rook. Well, then, she had to be a bishop, confined to the black squares of the board. Always limited in ways she could move, pieces she could take. She wanted the power to go anywhere and destroy whatever piece got in her way!_

_ She scowled at the pawn that boldly moved into the space to her right. If she were a rook or a queen or even a king she could knock it out, but as a bishop she was unable to do anything to it. Crossing her arms, she puffed a strand of hair out of her face and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the next move to be made. Always waiting for the unseen force, the one in control of the situation, her life._

_ As the game progressed she was put in greater and greater peril, barely making it out of some situations alive – for she was sure in this game of chess the penalty of losing was death – and being moved into positions where the only thing protecting her was the strategic placement of another piece on her side. She became increasingly petrified as she could imagine one of the giant marble pieces crushing her. She never dared touch one, even when she moved into the square to take one out. They were too intimidating, towering over her ominously. She was engulfed by their shadows, making her feel small and feeble in comparison._

_ It felt like only minutes had passed and only a few pieces remained, including her. She was moved into position to check the opposing king, but the king moved. She stamped her foot when it got away. Why couldn't she just win the game? Get it over and done with? Then a knight on her side moved, preparing to check the king again. After its move, the remaining rook on the other side moved into her row; there were no pieces between it and her, meaning she would either have to move or die. She balled her hands into fists and looked around nervously when she sensed a hesitation in the unknown force, the one controlling her. Would it sacrifice her?_

_ Her heart stopped when she saw the king she had been working so hard to protect move back one square, keeping safe from another anticipated move made by the other side. She wasn't going to be saved. With wide eyes filled with tears of fear, she watched the rook come charging at her. All she could do was hold out her hands to block it, weakly defending herself –_

Bulma woke up gasping, a thin layer of sweat coating her face and chest. In retrospect, it wasn't that scary, but when she was in the game, when it really was life or death, the danger was horrible. And the powerlessness – that was what she hated the most. She couldn't move on her own, being forced to depend on someone else's whims. And when she wasn't deemed important enough, she was left to die. It wasn't fair, and it left her clinging ever more tightly to the power she held in real life.

To her, everything was a game of strategy with her playing to win. She would conquer anyone who opposed her, swiftly and without remorse. But she never felt like she was powerful enough. Was that why she was never the queen? Was that why she couldn't control her own movement? She shook her head, not wanting to think about it too much. It was nothing but a silly dream – though it managed to keep her up half the night – and there was no point in analyzing it. No one was using her as a pawn in his or her own grand scheme. She was independent and autonomous and incredibly powerful. She was Bulma Brief. And she was tired. Closing her eyes again, she willed herself to find sleep once more, praying to Kami that she wouldn't dream of chess again.

_A/N: I guess this isn't really one of my more popular stories, but I want to get it finished. As long as it's unfinished it's going to be a distraction for me. Anyway, I have a couple more chapters written, so I can do regular updates for a while. It's not going to be long anyway...I've planned 13 chapters total. Sadly, I also have to admit I'm not putting as much effort into this story as I do some of my others. If there's a noticeable lack of quality, let me know and I'll work harder to improve it for your reading pleasure. And, of course, I would love reviews good or bad. By the way, I finally got a job, so I'm pretty busy now (I'm away from home 13 hours a day), so not much writing is going to happen anymore. I've got another story in the works, but I likely won't start posting it for a long time. I've also hit writer's block in _Guardian of Vegetasei _(as I do after every chapter I write), so updates won't be happening in that one for a while. So I hope you can enjoy this story since it's probably going to be the only one I'll be updating for a while._

_Beta'd by lilpumpkingirl_


	5. Chapter 4: Driven

Chapter 4  
>Driven<p>

Bulma Brief stepped onto the stage, a sparkling white smile beaming at the cameras. Gracefully she walked to the center of the stage where the podium was set up and paused, allowing more pictures to be taken before starting her short speech. Once the cheering died down and the flashing of the cameras stopping blinding her, she softly cleared her throat and began.

"Thank you all for coming tonight to support the Capsule Corporation Foundation for Cancer Research. As you all know, my name is Bulma Brief, and as president of Capsule Corporation it is my honor and privilege to report that tonight we have raised over 450,000 zeni to fund further research for cancer treatment. All of your donations are greatly appreciated. Now, I would like to introduce to you our first performer, Hans Hjort. Again, thank you all for your contributions and enjoy the show."

She was followed offstage by another round of applause and cameras flashing. Her face would be printed all over the covers of every major newspaper in the world the next morning, showcasing her beauty and philanthropy. Careful not to trip over the long, flowing skirt of her evening gown, she descended the stairs from the stage and waved to the reporters nearby who were clamoring for a chance to interview her, hoping to be the one to get an inside scoop on the great Bulma Brief and the new company foundation, the next in a series of foundations started to benefit mankind.

But Bulma didn't stop to talk to any of the reporters, instead heading over to the buffet line where her father and mother were chatting with a few benefactors. Honestly she wasn't in the mood to talk to reporters and gush over the good she was doing the world. She didn't care about the foundation as anything but a strategic move to increase her public influence and prestige. Everyone knew who Bulma Brief was, but some were beginning to doubt she should be allowed to hold such power. Well, she was going to show them that she was not only capable of handling the power she wielded, but she was benevolent and trustworthy. She was a role model for the world, exemplifying the kind of person people hoped every person with great wealth would be. Kind, generous, friendly, and gorgeous. She wanted them to believe she had the good of all in mind when really all she cared about was her own power.

Power. The more she had, the more she craved. She was exhausted and she feared she was losing her sanity, but she was gaining more power, more wealth, more influence. This benefit was a public façade, the foundation a successful show put on to silence those who dared oppose her and her corporation. Behind her she heard the first chords strike up as the musician began his live performance. He was one of the best, a rising star popular with both the young and old as he tastefully blended traditional music with new age sounds. He wasn't an easy artist to book, but with her bountiful wallet and persuasive personality, she was able to convince him to perform at the benefit. That alone attracted substantial media attention and many who normally couldn't care less about attending benefits purchased tickets to see him perform live.

"Bulma, honey," Mrs. Brief said when she saw her daughter approaching. "My, everything is just perfect, isn't it? Whoever you hired to do the decorations did an outstanding job!"

Bulma smiled and picked up a cup of punch from the table. "Yeah, Mom. I paid for the best."

"Of course, dear."

Dr. Brief finished his conversation with an older gentleman and his wife who must have been at least two decades younger, then turned to his daughter with a cheerful smile partially hidden under his mustache. "Very good, dear. It's wonderful that you were able to raise so much money with a single event. That almost pays for the entertainment and catering service." He winked at her, chuckling lightly.

"Very funny, Dad," Bulma said, unable to hide her own smile. "It more than pays for it. And anyway, you know most of that came out of my own pocket."

"Or the company's," he teased.

Bulma shrugged as she sipped her punch. "Whatever. It's the same thing."

Dr. Brief nodded, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo jacket. "Of course, dear. But when did this sudden interest in helping people with cancer arise?"

"About a week ago," she replied casually. It didn't matter when or why. All that mattered was she managed to organize a fabulous benefit in a short amount of time and the media was eating it up faster than the lobster and hors d'oeuvres.

"Well, I think it's just great," Mrs. Brief added. "It's so sweet to dedicate yourself to a good cause like this."

The blue-haired heiress had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes. Her mother was so naïve. Only her father knew her true intentions when she announced she was going to be starting a new foundation and holding a kick-off benefit for it on the same night as the King of Earth was scheduled to deliver his annual speech about the state of the global nation. Of course it was on purpose that she drew attention away from King Furry. He was insignificant by comparison. She wanted media attention on _her_ and _her_ company. Let the old king babble about the troubled global economy and tensions between states. But keep the world focused on her success, her wealth, and her company and its attempts to better their lives through progressive technology. Encourage them to give her their money. Teach them to raise her up on an untouchable pedestal.

Bulma was proud of herself for her accomplishment and the success of her quickly planned event. Who else could pull it off but her? Excusing herself, she went to mingle with some of the richer benefactors and the fat cats from the board of trustees who bothered to show up. Though she really didn't care to talk with them and give insincere thanks for their contributions, she had to keep up the act, fulfilling her role as altruistic businesswoman. Still, she kept her conversations short, repeatedly offering the excuse that she had more people she needed to talk to before the night was over.

In truth, it only took her an hour and a half to talk with everyone and deceive them into believing she cared at all what they did for Capsule Corporation's newest foundation. Once she was through talking to them, she made her rounds with the media, answering a question here and there and posing for pictures she knew would be plastered on the covers of magazines for the next month. It was for this reason she went out of her way to cover the fatigue she felt. She was wearing so much makeup she felt like she was wearing a mask, but it still looked natural, beautiful. Her hair was in an elegant up-do, her earrings, necklace, and bracelets were all diamond that glinted in the dim light of the terrace, and her gown was a deep blue with a plunging neckline with a long, flowing skirt that flitted behind her on the light breeze of her confident stride. Young, beautiful, wealthy. She wanted to flaunt it, to show the world that her power could be coupled with benevolence and generosity.

After having her picture taken hundreds of times and giving snippets of information to the press, she retired into the old Capsule Corporation compound, her home. The party would continue outside for several hours, well into the early hours of the morning, but she didn't have any desire to stick around to see it through. She was horribly tired, hardly able to hold up her head, barely maintaining her brilliant smile and amiable demeanor. Anyway, she knew her parents would cover for her and praise the work of the foundation. Their accolades would be almost as inspiring as her own; they would keep the public happy.

Humorously, many of the high government officials were in attendance at the benefit. They weren't present at the capitol building in Central City to support King Furry as he delivered his annual speech. Bulma smirked to herself as she skimmed through the guest list and saw many names of powerful politicians. All of them had come to please her, to show her she had their undying support, to give her their money and adoration. She held them in the palm of her hand like she did the rest of the world. They were more loyal to her than the good king.

'As they should be,' she thought smugly. 'I'm more powerful than that old coot anyway. I'm the one who keeps the economy running. I'm the one who supports him. I'm the one who controls the government.' She chuckled to herself quietly as she went upstairs to her bedroom.

She opened the door and turned on the light, making the shadows disappear from her walls. Repressing a shiver, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it, groaning from tiredness and the frustration of having to wear an annoying façade for so long. At least she would look good in the papers. Then, shaking her head, she went across her room to close the curtains of her balcony doors, blocking out the lights from the benefit and blocking the view of anyone bold enough to try capturing a picture of her as she undressed.

"I hate these things," she muttered. Sitting at her vanity, she started pulling the pins out of her hair that held it in place, then brushed it out when all her aqua locks were down. She put it back up in a ponytail before taking off her jewelry. It was nice to be able to look at herself in the mirror and not feel disgust. The makeup was thick, but it was effective. She looked lively and healthy on the outside. And the outside was all the world cared about. They didn't need to know she was slowly slipping into insanity or that she rarely got more than four hours of sleep each night.

She stood up and reached around to unzip her dress, letting it slide to the floor around her feet. Stepping out of it, she left it as she walked to her bathroom to wash the mask off her face and brush her teeth. Routine. She liked it, simple as it was. It gave her a small sense of control. Though she couldn't shake the paranoia and she couldn't save herself from her terrible dreams, she could control every other little aspect of her life. Once cleaned up, she went back to her bedroom and picked up her dress from the floor, tossing it over the back of her chair to hang up some other time.

"I don't want to keep doing these benefits," she sighed. "They're so boring and I'm just wasting company money on them."

But she felt pushed, driven to keep holding benefits, to keep raising money for her foundations, to keep the public spotlight on her and her corporation. She couldn't really explain why. All she knew was that she couldn't stop. She wanted more attention. She wanted more wealth. She wanted more popularity, more influence. More power. She needed more power. It was almost as if someone was shoving her forward, forcing her to keep going when she would really rather take a break. She didn't want to take a vacation, leave work, or slow down in the company's progress, but she didn't know why she continued fighting for public approval. Why should she care what the world thought of her and her company? Because if they didn't like her as a person and a businesswoman, they wouldn't respect her, they wouldn't buy her products, and they wouldn't listen to her opinion. She would lose power.

As great as she was now, it was easy to lose power. There wasn't much more to gain, and simply holding onto what she had was becoming increasingly difficult. People were becoming disenchanted with her. They resented her success and envied her wealth. Could she blame them? People living in squalor would naturally hate her for living in comfort and prosperity. And there were many, many people living in poverty, barely able to make it from one day to the next. She didn't particularly care about them, but she knew she depended on people like them to keep her on her economic throne.

Sometimes she thought it would be easier to lose some of her power. She wouldn't have to worry so much about keeping up her perfect public image and she wouldn't have to be so concerned about falling from the top. But such ideas were all dismissed as soon as they entered her mind. Even if she wanted to entertain them longer, she felt as if there was some sort of barrier in her head keeping them from lingering longer. She supposed it didn't matter anyway. She knew she had an addiction. A serious addiction. It was consuming her life and it had destroyed many relationships. But she didn't care. All she cared about was satisfying the growing hunger for power.

By the time she pulled on her pajamas it was already after eleven o'clock. At least it was Friday and she didn't have to work the next day. Of course she would, but at least she wasn't expected to show up at headquarters at eight in the morning. With a yawn she lowered herself into bed and turned off the light. The monstrous shadows returned to her walls and ceiling, haunting her as she fought to find sleep and respite from her madness. It wasn't the sounds of the party that kept her awake, but the constant fear of coming danger, the unshakable paranoia that someone was watching, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The next morning Bulma woke up late; thin rays of bright sunlight were already streaming in the space between the curtains of her balcony doors. Songbirds were chirping, dogs were barking, and all the noises of the city were roaring with life. Bulma groaned and held one of her pillows over her head, trying fruitlessly to block out the unwanted sounds. Really all she wanted was to go back to sleep. As usual she had taken a long time getting to sleep, and she woke up at least twice through the night and had difficulty getting back to sleep afterward. Damnable insomnia, it was going to kill her.

"Not quite."

Bulma ignored the voice in her head and finally sat up in bed, yawning and stretching, forcing away the sleepiness that wouldn't ease. She didn't bother looking at the clock before dragging herself out of bed and stumbling across her bedroom to the bathroom for a shower. She was so tired she couldn't keep her balance and slammed her shoulder into the doorway between rooms. Hissing in pain, she rubbed her shoulder and slammed the bathroom door closed behind her. Great start to a morning.

Her shower was unnecessarily long, but she wanted to enjoy the hot water caressing her tired body. It gave her a little energy, a little focus to get her going. And it was deeply satisfying in a way she couldn't describe, as if she was being massaged. There was no one to touch her, but she almost thought she felt hands moving across her aching shoulders and down her back. Sensually, teasingly. She didn't know what was making her feel that way, but she welcomed it. At least _something_ was pleasant for a change. She didn't get out of the shower until the water started running cold.

With a weary sigh she got out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, choosing to let her air dry. It at least gave her an excuse to take longer in getting ready for work. She grimaced thinking about going in to the office. It was Saturday. She should be taking the day off, relaxing at the beach or going shopping or simply staying home and watching TV or something. But no, she was Bulma Brief, and she had too much to do to waste time like that. She had things to get done, deadlines to meet, people to walk over. Deciding to dress more casually since it wasn't a regular workday, she went to her closet and picked out a pair of brown pants and a dark red sweater. Not overly professional, but not _too_ casual. What did it matter? If she was lucky no one would see her anyway.

Once dressed, she pulled her damp hair into a bun and applied a light layer of makeup, just enough to lessen the signs of sleeplessness to a tolerable level. Satisfied enough with her appearance, she grabbed her briefcase and went downstairs for some breakfast before leaving for headquarters. Both her parents were in the kitchen when she came in. Her mother was washing the dirty dishes and her father was sitting at the table reading the newspaper. She grinned when she saw her face on the front page just as she had predicted. Her benefit was a raving success. Of course. Everything she did was a success.

She sat down at the table and served herself some eggs and a pancake. A light breakfast, but enough to give her the boost she needed. And of course coffee. Always coffee. She finished off three cups before she had all her food eaten.

"Thanks for breakfast, Mom," she said as she stood up to leave. "I'm going to headquarters. I'll try to be back sometime this afternoon."

Mrs. Brief turned around, her hands still coated in suds from the dishwater. "You're going in to work today, sweetie? Don't you think you should take a day off? You've been working so hard lately."

Bulma smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Mom. I'd love to relax a little, but duty calls."

Dr. Brief sighed quietly, his mustache twitching. "Dear, you've been working seven days a week for at least a month. You need some rest. You're working yourself too hard."

"I'm fine!" Bulma insisted more forcefully. "Kami, I don't know what you're making such a big deal about."

Her parents exchanged a glance before shrugging and turning back to their previous activities. Bulma felt a little bad about snapping at them for their concern, but she really thought it was unfounded. Yes, she was tired, but that didn't mean she couldn't still work. She was always so busy, there really was no time for her to sit back and relax. Even if she could, she couldn't rest. That internal drive that kept pushing her onward wouldn't relent. All she could do was work harder, work faster, make herself greater, help her company grow larger.

"So I'll see you later," she grumbled as she walked out of the kitchen. She stopped in the hall to grab a jacket from the closet, then went out the front door. It took her eyes a minute to adjust to the bright May sun as she crossed the front lawn of the compound toward the driveway. Pulling her car capsule from her pocket, she pushed the plunger and tossed it on the ground. She climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. Routine, all routine. She exhaled a deep breath as she pulled out into the street to drive to headquarters. This was her life. Work was her top priority no matter what.

It wasn't long before she reached headquarters. When she walked in the main doors, she wasn't surprised to see there was no receptionist at the desk. Capsule Corporation wasn't actually open for business on the weekends. Scientists still came in to conduct research, but the business side of the corporation was all done during the regular five day work week. Except for the work Bulma did. Hers couldn't wait for Monday and never got finished in the five days between weekends. If she didn't come in to work on Saturdays and Sundays, she would be perpetually behind, and she couldn't let that happen. Not if she wanted to stay on top.

She took the elevator up to her office suite and ignored the shiver as she went over to her desk to begin work. Last night's benefit had taken a lot of time out of her schedule for the past week and she needed to review some research proposals and apply for government grants. She figured she should also write a big thank-you to everyone who showed up to support the new foundation on the company's blog. Good publicity was good for the company, and a surprisingly large number of people read the Capsule Corporation blog regularly. It seemed everyone wanted to know what was going on in the world's largest corporation. The blog also linked them to coupons, sales, pages for new products, and other company information. Keeping up with it was another pain, but Bulma was dedicated to it for the sake of keeping up her positive image. A blog made it seem like she cared about staying connected with her customers.

The first few proposals for research were all for cancer treatments. It made sense, considering she recently decided to start a foundation for it. Even so, it was boring to read through proposal after proposal about something she honestly cared little about. Of course medicine was a large part of the corporation's business, but she was no medical doctor and had little interest in the general subject. She approved most of them, but three or four of them she had to reject, either from unethical practices or because she doubted she would get the funding for them. And she definitely didn't want to be putting out enormous amounts of money on this. Let the foundation pay for it. But it hadn't raised enough money yet.

It was after noon by the time she finished reviewing the proposals. She frowned when she looked at the clock on her desk. It was no wonder her stomach was growling, but she didn't care to get anything to eat. Shrugging off the hunger pangs, she delved into the applications for government grants for the approved research proposals. She could have left the task to the scientists, but she never trusted them to get the money from the government. They didn't have the same sway as she did, and anyway, too often when she allowed them to complete their own applications they messed up and didn't get the grants. She didn't want to spend much company money on research. That's what the government was for. Her money, the company's money, was for paying employees, marketing, production, and building expansions.

Bulma was an expert at working the system. She could probably coax the government into giving her company money even without the formal applications or even to fund good research. But if she were to try that method, someone might get cocky enough to consider it a debt she may later have to repay. And Bulma Brief never put herself or her corporation in anybody's debt if she could help it. She wanted to remain autonomous, independent, self-sufficient, and free to guide the company in the direction she wanted. She ran by no one else's agenda, and Capsule Corporation did only what _she_ wanted it to do. Forget the board of trustees. They were a bunch of old men sitting around a big table bickering about all the things they could or should be doing to further the company. She was the one who held the real power, the one who made things happen. The board answered to _her_. In most companies, the president was below the CEO, but not Bulma Brief. The CEO was beneath her along with everyone else.

The afternoon hours passed as Bulma filled out the applications and sealed them in envelopes to mail out Monday morning. She couldn't help but feel like someone was peering over her shoulder the entire time, which put her on edge. She took more pills to quell the rising paranoia, but the feeling didn't abate. She even glanced over her shoulder a time or two, almost expecting to see the same apparition or whatever it had been she saw a few months prior. But there was nothing to see but the cityscape.

The light in her office was dimming by the time she finished the last grant application. That done, she reclined back in her chair with her feet up on the desk, hands folded behind her head. She was tired and her focus was ebbing away until she couldn't hold onto a coherent thought much longer than a few seconds. How frustrating, knowing she only accomplished a small portion of her workload in several hours and now she wasn't going to be able to do much else. The blog, she could write the blog, maybe post a picture or a link to the foundation's website, and be done for the day.

"If I weren't so damn tired I'd be able to get more done," she sighed, then frowned. "No use complaining about it."

It only took a few minutes for her to write the blog, giving an informal report on the benefit, the purpose of the foundation, the goals she hoped to accomplish in a few months, ways people could support the foundation, ways to donate money, pictures of the benefit, and a link to a video of some of the live music performances and interviews with various benefactors. It was more thorough and more interesting than any news articles people would find in the papers or the television coverage of it. That was what she wanted, to be viewed as personable and involved. Really interested in keeping her customers in the know. She snorted as she posted the blog. It was all a big lie, but if they believed it she profited from it.

Already almost dinner time by the time she shut down her computer and packed up her briefcase, Bulma finally paid attention to the loud rumbling sounds her stomach was making. Her breakfast hadn't been large, and she hadn't eaten lunch or even a snack. She was definitely hungry. 'Just great,' she thought. 'As if I don't look bad enough from not sleeping, now I'm not eating either.'

She pulled on her jacket, grabbed her briefcase, and walked over to the elevator to leave. Feeling like she was being followed closely, she turned around to look around the room once more before stepping onto the elevator. No one there. Empty chairs. Feeling warm air fan across her neck, down her throat. She shuddered. Telling herself it was her imagination, she got onto the elevator and punched the button to take her down to the main floor.

Obviously alone on the elevator, she didn't feel alone. Someone was with her, standing so close she could feel him. But she couldn't, not really. There was no one there. As if to prove to herself that she was alone, she waved her arms around her, feeling slightly foolish when her hands passed through thin air. "No one," she murmured.

"But me."

"I didn't hear that," she replied with more confidence than she felt. She ignored the quiet, fading chuckle that followed her declaration. Then, tentatively, she asked, "Are you real?"

"Yes, little one." The voice was little more than a whisper in the depths of her mind.

Goose bumps raised on her arms and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Swallowing, she tried to ignore what she just heard, or at least what she thought she heard. She was tired. That was all there was to it. She was so tired she was hearing voices again. Voices that weren't there, voices of some person who didn't exist. Nothing to worry about aside from her insanity.

Gathering her courage, she asked, "If you're so real, then why can't I see you?"

There was a pause. She could imagine the person or whatever it was considering how to answer. She almost expected some sort of answer like 'look behind you, I'm right here.' But the voice didn't say anything of the kind. "You will soon. You're almost ready."

'Ready for what?' she wondered sullenly. Ready to go to a mental institution? Ready to give up everything she ever worked for, hand her company over to someone less capable? Not in a million years. She was Bulma Brief, and even if she completely lost her marbles, she was _not_ going to relinquish her corporation to _anyone_. If it were possible, she could practically feel the amusement of her elevator companion. Crossing her arms over her chest, she edged closer to the door as the elevator reached the main floor at last. Was it just her or did it take an incredibly long time to make its descent? Wonderful, now she was losing track of time, thinking seconds were minutes. Maybe even hours.

She practically leaped out of the elevator as soon as the door was open, hoping to leave behind the haunting voice, the cold chills, the fear. The quick tapping of her shoes on the floor echoed through the lobby area. The closer she got to the main doors the faster she walked until she was almost running, desperate to get out of the building and away from her office, away from the madness. She threw the door open and ran out to the curb where she threw her capsule on the ground and waited a split second for her car to appear. As soon as it did she opened the door, got in, and locked the doors. Not that locked doors would keep out some incorporeal figment of her imagination. She started the engine and pulled out into the street, cutting off another car that honked angrily at her. But she didn't hear it, didn't pay attention. The only thing she could think about was getting away.

_A/N: Hooray, another chapter. Last chapter before the main conflict enters, so for those of you getting tired of this stuff, things are looking up. Those of you wondering where the heck Vegeta is... things are looking up. Sort of. I'm not going to lie and say he's a good guy in this fic because he isn't. Actually, his character might offend some people. Just a heads-up for you..._

_Beta'd by lilpumpkingirl_

_Review!_


	6. Chapter 5: Incarnate

_Warning: Rape._

Chapter 5  
>Incarnate<p>

Bulma groaned, holding her face in her hands. The financial news was not good news at all. Several of the investments she had made were crumbling and one of the small companies she bought only a week ago was declaring bankruptcy. She hadn't made good choices. Add that to the failed deal with one of their major rival companies and a staggeringly high number of good employees quitting due to Bulma's overbearing micromanagement and impossible demands and she was looking to be in pretty bad shape. What was happening to her? She never made bad decisions like this. She worked to _advance_ Capsule Corporation, not destroy it!

"This is not good," she moaned. "How am I going to explain this to the board?"

There was a board meeting scheduled for that afternoon, probably to address some of the problems Capsule Corporation had been having as a result of her spontaneous decisions and poor judgment over the past several weeks. The corporation was losing capital and they had had to recall two major products because of dangerous malfunctions. The government had denied them funds for a handful of research projects and media coverage was not very optimistic. Bulma didn't know what was going on. She had never messed up so many things, especially all at once, before in her career. Was it the stress? Or was it because she was so damn tired she couldn't even think straight anymore? It didn't really matter. The board wouldn't want her excuses.

It was, perhaps, the first time she was intimidated by the board. She was always the one they bowed down to, respected, they bent to her will. But each member of the board of trustees had staked his claim in the business and wouldn't allow her to keep screwing up. If she proved herself incompetent in the role of president, they would work together to boot her out of her position. Maybe she could still retain a position in research and development, or even as vice president or some other position near the top of the corporate ladder. But Bulma Brief didn't want to be kicked out of her chair as president. It was her throne to hold, it was her right! She was the heiress, the daughter of the man who built Capsule Corporation from the ground up.

"Stupid stocks," she grumbled, closing the window on her computer that constantly updated its reports on the stock market and all her investments. They weren't improving and there was no way they would make great enough gains by afternoon to be of any helpful consequence in the meeting. Bulma was absolutely miserable. She felt grossly inadequate, like she was finally falling apart under the pressure of holding the highest ranking position in the most powerful company in the whole world.

She didn't know what she was going to do. How could she save herself from this debacle? Slowly, sadly shaking her head, she stood up and went to her kitchenette to make herself a cup of tea. It would likely do little to soothe her, but any attempt was better than nothing. She had already taken at least two doses of her anti-anxiety medication and she feared taking another would cause some serious harm. Though at this point she was almost willing to risk it. The clock on the microwave told her it was 12:37PM. Her hour-long lunch break was almost over. Not that she had been using it to eat lunch. No, she was trying desperately to find a way to claw out of the pit she dug herself into.

"My life will be over if I lose the company," she whimpered. Capsule Corporation _was_ her life. Even as a child she dreamed of someday running her father's company. She was already inventing before she ever hit puberty, and she worked as an intern through high school and college. When she graduated with a master's in business at the age of twenty-one she was given the newly created position of vice president, right below her father, then the company president. Only two and a half years later she pushed her father to retire, giving her the reins as president of Capsule Corporation and dropping the position of vice president. There was no need for one. She was more than capable of running the company herself. How could she surrender a lifetime of work? How could she let a bunch of old men take what was hers?

Bulma jumped when the tea kettle whistled; she had been so lost in her thoughts and memories that she didn't even remember putting water on to boil. She had been trying to break her caffeine addiction, but constant fatigue and worry were more than enough to keep her drinking tea and coffee regularly. Rolling her eyes, she thought about how hard it was getting to keep her teeth pearly white. As if photographs and videos couldn't be edited to make them look white even if they were stained with her energy-giving beverages. Then she frowned. As if anyone cared what the failing president of Capsule Corporation looked like anymore.

Pouring herself a cup of tea, she growled angrily. "You know what? Mistakes happen in business! It's not like any single member of the board could honestly tell me he hasn't made some bad move that hurt the company before. So I've been messing up. It's not the end of the world. I'll make it right."

Yes, she would make it right and she would make it better. Lesson learned: she couldn't become so arrogant as to believe herself always right and trust her predictions in business trends wholeheartedly. Genius that she was, she was still human and still made errors on occasion. And she couldn't put the company at risk because she wanted to believe that any other company she supported would automatically be successful. She couldn't believe that the government was always going to be on her side, and she couldn't believe the media would fail to pick up on a story against her if it was big enough news. She couldn't shut down every newspaper and news station in the world, and they knew it. They would still attack her if they thought the benefits outweighed the costs.

Bulma Brief was not infallible. Fine, perfect. She picked up her tea and went back to her desk to start preparing herself for the meeting using only the facts. No more projected growth statistics, no more excuses, no more blaming anyone else. She was going to go into the meeting and admit to the board that she had been acting carelessly, but she was going to remedy it. She was going to give them her plans to pick the company back up and move forward, putting this little stint of failures in the past where it belonged. And damn it, she was going to make her presentation so outstanding the entire board would be left speechless, in awe of her business tactics and foresight, and they would applaud her resilience and let her go about her work without further interference and doubt.

At 1:15PM she finished jotting some notes on her notepad and stuffed it into a leather portfolio to take with her to the meeting. Taking a deep breath, she stood up from her desk and went to the elevator to go down to the next floor where the conference room where all the board meetings took place was located. As she waited for elevator door to open she felt her heart pounding in her chest and a feeling similar to nausea rose in her gut. What if this didn't go well? As powerful as she was, would she be able to overcome the _whole_ board when they actually had something to hold against her? Something to honestly be concerned about? She swallowed back her uncertainty, rolling back her shoulders to show unshakable confidence.

When she reached the conference room, the board members were already sitting around the table waiting for her. Most of them looked grim, and all the others looked neutral. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, gathering her thoughts and pushing back her fear. Opening her eyes, she put on a smile for the board as she walked into the room and went around the table to sit at the head, laying her portfolio on the table in front of her.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," she said calmly.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Brief," the CEO, Mr. Jobs replied cordially. He put her on edge. It wasn't that he wasn't always polite, but he seemed different this time. Condescending, perhaps. If nothing else, he was trying to hide his displeasure with her behind a mask of gentility.

"What order of business is on the agenda today?" she asked. While she waited for him to explain, she turned the glass in front of her right side up and poured water into it from a pitcher on the table. Though she wasn't thirsty, she had a feeling she might need a way to stall in answering questions from time to time. Taking a drink of water could serve that purpose.

The CEO sighed as he folded his hands on the table, meeting her cold blue gaze fearlessly. That alone was enough to tell her he thought he had the power in this situation. "As I'm sure you know, Ms. Brief, Capsule Corporation has lost 5.2 million zeni over the past month. Looking through our records, the board has determined that a large portion – at least 80 per cent – of that sum has been a direct result of your actions."

Somehow managing to hold a straight face, Bulma responded, "Yes, I am aware that we have been losing capital, but you understand that 5.2 million is a rather small amount of the company's finances—"

"The point isn't that the money is hurting our pocketbooks too severely," Mr. Jobs said, cutting her off. "The point is that you are showing either a lack of responsibility in the position of president of this company or you are unable to handle the workload at this time. Now, we," he explained, gesturing to the other men around the table, "have spoken to many of the department heads and many of them have reported you have not, shall we say, been at the top of your game for the past few months."

Bulma gaped at him indignantly. "Do you mean to tell me my employees—"

"Hold on, Ms. Brief. There's no need to get excited."

"What do you mean!"

The CFO cut in with a nasally, scratching voice she always hated. "Ms. Brief, your decisions have been hurting the company financially. Based on your previous performance, we do not believe it is a lack of competence or responsibility on your part that these mistakes have been made."

"Then what _are_ you insinuating?" she snarled.

There was a momentary pause where the members of the board of trustees exchanged glances, cleared their throats, and averted their eyes from the fuming heiress of the corporation. Finally, the CEO said what they had decided in her absence. "Ms. Brief, it has come to our attention that you have been using – possibly abusing – anti-anxiety medication from our pharmacy and you have been showing signs of extreme stress and fatigue. Until you are able to come to work in a more suitable mental state, you are hereby relieved of your duties as president."

She was shell-shocked to say the least. They never even gave her the chance to defend herself. All that preparation for nothing! She was furious, she was – she was heartbroken. They were kicking her out of what had become her home. It was her life. They didn't have the right! They _did_ have the right. She glowered at them all as she stood up and picked up her portfolio.

"And how am I supposed to prove when I'm in a 'suitable mental state?'" she asked snidely, unable to keep the mocking tone out of her voice as she repeated the CEO's phrase.

He shrugged, unconcerned. "We'll give you two weeks. When that time is up you may come in for an evaluation by an unbiased psychiatrist. If he affirms you are better able to cope with the stress of your prominent position, you will be allowed to return to your duties."

"Very well." Bulma forced a calm expression as she nodded goodbye to them and stormed out of the conference room. She clutched her portfolio to her chest while her free hand clenched into a tight fist. Furious didn't even begin to describe was she was feeling. She pushed the button to take her back up to the floor of her office suite and stepped onto it when the door opened. How could this happen to her?

The only ray of hope she was left with was being allowed to come back in two weeks' time. Somehow she had to gather her bearings before then, recuperate from months of sleeplessness and anxiety problems, and break her dependence on the anti-anxiety medications. In two weeks? She snorted. Not likely. But she was going to prove to that pack of arrogant bastards that _she_ was the boss. They wouldn't get away with pushing her around like this. No, sir. They were going to find themselves without jobs soon enough.

She paced through her office suite for an hour, silently stewing in her angry thoughts, swearing to herself a hundred times over that she would have her revenge. No one humiliated Bulma Brief like this, _no one_. How could she tell her parents what happened? Did they already know? Would the board have contacted them to get more information about her mental state? Would they have told the board anything? She felt her fingernails digging into her palms almost hard enough to draw blood, but she didn't care. At least the small amount of pain distracted her for a moment from her rage.

"Damn them!" she shouted, stamping her foot. The soft carpet absorbed the blow, which only made her more aggravated. Oh, she wanted to destroy something. Take her anger out on some object or some person – she hardly cared which.

Finally, after expending her energy on pacing, ranting, and kicking her furniture, Bulma collapsed in one of the leather chairs and curled up in it, no longer able to control the flurry of emotions spiraling through her. Bringing her knees up to her chest, she allowed the walls to break down as she wailed miserably, muffling the sound with her arm. She sobbed until her whole body heaved and her cheeks were wet with tears. This couldn't be happening, she told herself. The words repeated in her mind over and over until she could hardly break free from the cycle. It couldn't be happening. She was Bulma Brief! Most powerful woman in the world. Who were these men to take that from her? To tear her from the throne of the empire she built?

'I'll do anything to get it back,' she vowed to herself. And she meant it. Anything. Power was all that mattered to her, it was all she cared about. She had fought for it her whole life, and she was going to fight to get it back and make it greater than ever. Only a few minutes later she sank into a deep slumber, free of terrible dreams that would wake her.

When she did wake, it was dark outside. The dim orange light of the city cast an array of shadows across her office. She was confused at first, disoriented by her strange location. But when she remembered where she had fallen asleep, she sat up and rubbed her neck as it was aching a little from her position in the chair.

"Wow," she muttered. "How long was I out?" She pulled back her sleeve to check her watch, able to make out in the dim light that it was 10:20PM. Her eyes widened, her eyebrows rising. She slept for almost a full eight hours. That was an amazing feat considering her recent sleep record. Shrugging, she stood up and straightened her skirt before stretching. After skipping both lunch and dinner she was hungry and it was so late her parents would probably be worrying about her if she didn't get home soon. She'd worked late nights before, but usually she called home to warn them, mostly so her mother would know if she should expect her for dinner.

She went to her desk and opened her briefcase to pack her portfolio and some other papers. Obviously she didn't need much of anything if the title of president was temporarily peeled from her. Let the company crash while she was away. That would show them how much they needed her. With a huff she put on her suit jacket and grabbed her briefcase, then walked to the elevator to leave. Without a backwards glance she stepped onto the elevator and closed the door before hitting the button to take her to the main level. She knew there wouldn't be many people around; the night shift workers were already locked away in their laboratories and the day shift workers would have gone home hours ago. If she were likely to run into anyone, it would be the security staff, but she doubted they were prowling around. Probably they were in their office watching surveillance cameras rather than making the rounds themselves. Lazy pigs.

Bulma walked out of the building, her teeth chattering as the chill night air bit into her. She hastened her steps to reach the street, but then she slowed when she heard a second set of footsteps. Glancing around, she didn't see anyone. It had be someone on the opposite side of the wall surrounding the front courtyard of the headquarters building. She was surrounded on all sides by Capsule Corporation. The building itself wrapped around the sidewalk on the three sides and the short wall created a barrier between the building and the street.

She stopped when she heard the footsteps growing louder. Someone was right around the corner. She held her breath and dug around in her purse for her pistol. Probably it was a random passerby, but at this point she wasn't willing to take any chances. She heard her heart thumping in her chest in time with the footsteps. She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. She heard the footsteps come to an abrupt stop. In front of her? She couldn't be sure. She hadn't opened her eyes yet. Now she didn't want to. She cracked one eye open, then the other. There was a man standing exactly where she imagined him. Something about him instantly put her on edge. He wasn't much taller than her, but he had a black flame of hair that made him appear taller than he was. He was wearing a tight, long-sleeved shirt, skin-tight pants, white boots, and white gloves. The expression he wore on his face made her forget her fear for a moment, instead replacing it with anger. He looked so smug! Arrogant, even. She scowled at him.

"What are you looking at?" she hissed.

One thick eyebrow raised in an elegant arch. "Excuse me, but did I give you permission to speak?" His voice was rough and deep. It sent a shiver running down her spine. Eerily familiar, like déjà vu or passing memory of a dream.

"Permission?" she spat. "I don't need your permission! Who do you think you are? Do you know who I am, buddy?"

He smirked and crossed his arms – finely sculpted, she noted – across his (also finely sculpted) chest. "I know exactly who you are. You're my bitch." The look on Bulma's face must have spoken volumes about her surprise and indignation because he started laughing. It was a dark sound that made her cringe and step away from him. Everything about him reeked of malice – and that damned faint sense of recognition. Had she met him before? She doubted she would forget someone like this.

"What did you say?" Bulma's hand tightened on her pistol. She didn't know how many steps she took until she found herself backed up against a wall. Had he been following her? He must have been, he was still right in front of her. She had nowhere left to go.

He leaned in close to her and she felt his warm breath on her neck. She heard him sniffing her. She raised her free hand to slap him away, but without even looking he caught her wrist in an unbreakable grip. "Why are you afraid, woman?" She stopped breathing when she felt his sharp canine dragging along her throbbing carotid. "Don't tell me that you, _the_ Bulma Brief, are scared of me?"

She shook her head. "Of course I'm not afraid, you creep. Get away from me!"

"Or what?" He stood straight, looking down his nose at her. She was about to reply when he suddenly vanished. Bulma whirled around, her pistol now removed from her purse and held out in front of her, ready to shoot the instant she saw him again. She shrieked when she felt him behind her, breathing down her neck. "You'll shoot?" When she turned around he was gone. She held onto her pistol with both hands now, clinging to it for the safety she so desperately wanted.

"You – you don't know what you're dealing with," she said, trying to sound confident. "Do anything to me and you'll be sorry."

The man appeared in front of her and knocked the pistol out of her hands. She watched, speechless, as it clattered and skidded across the ground, far out of reach. Her hands instinctively clenched into fists as she again backed away from him, this time careful to avoid backing herself against a wall with no escape. He kept advancing on her, unperturbed by her thinly veiled threats. That infuriating smirk never slipped, he never lost his composure. He was more confident than she was, more sure of himself. That drove her crazy. She was Bulma Brief! _She_ was supposed to be in control! She was not going to be mocked by this creep. She was not going to let him get under her skin. No more. She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, perfectly mirroring him.

"So you obviously know who I am. But you haven't told me who _you _are." She blew a loose strand of hair from her face and cocked her hip, looking more impatient than anything.

The man snorted and his eyes roamed freely over her figure. He made no effort to hide it. It made her feel self-conscious as he appraised her. Never had she felt unsure of herself under the scrutiny of a man before, but this one made her feel exposed and... and helpless. "You want to know who I am?" He circled around her. "I am called Vegeta."

"Vegeta?" She snorted. "What kind of name is that?"

"It is a saiyan name. It means Power." He stopped in front of her and flicked his tongue over his canine.

"Power, huh? What would you know about power?" Bulma sidestepped him and walked briskly to the curb. She was ready to end their unpleasant conversation.

An instant later she felt pain shoot through her body as she was slammed against a wall with Vegeta holding her wrists above her head. His face was so close to hers she could smell his breath – disgusting, it stank of raw meat – and she could see into his eyes, impossibly black, bottomless. There was nothing in them, nothing but...power. She would recognize it anywhere, even if it was supposedly intangible. She could see power in his eyes, and it frightened her. It made her realize how petty her power was in comparison. She swallowed hard.

His eyes narrowed. "Foolish woman. You think you know power? Everything you have I gave to you." He moved even closer until their noses were touching. "You chose me, woman. You sold yourself to me."

Bulma winced and turned her head away from him. "What the hell do you mean I chose you? If I had a choice in the matter, I'd be rid of you right now."

He chuckled. "That is no longer an option. You see, I am a saiyan. You stupid humans are hardly aware of anything beyond your own miserable existence, few know about us. But we're always here, living among you in our own realm."

"What are you, demons?" Bulma tried to break her arms free, but she was held fast.

Vegeta looked like he was considering that for a moment before he shook his head. "Not exactly. Some saiyans are good, some are bad. Well, personally I think we're all the same, but according to human moral standards, I mean." He easily blocked her knee with his leg when she tried to kick his groin. "Humans sell themselves to a saiyan by the choices they make. Your particular vice is power. That's why you got me. Power."

Bulma gnashed her teeth at him when she realized breaking free would be a hopeless endeavor. He was unfazed. "I'd like to cancel the transaction."

"Really? You would give up everything you've gained with my help?" He grinned evilly. "Fine, woman. Try to escape me and lose it all. The company, the fame, the fortune, the influence. You have all that because I gave it to you when you came crawling to me. Ungrateful wench."

"You didn't give me anything! I worked my ass off for it!"

"You did it for power. I _am _power. Don't you get it?"

She shook her head. "You're not making any sense. Let me go."

He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, "There is one other thing you should know about saiyans, woman. We're possessive. I won't ever let another have you. You are mine."

"You're crazy!" she growled. "I belong to no one!"

"That," he said, "is where you're wrong." He stepped away from her and disappeared, leaving Bulma alone, stunned. She released a long, shaky breath and smoothed out her suit jacket. She wasn't going to complain about his departure. She spotted her gun in the grass next to the sidewalk and went over to pick it up and tuck it in her purse. She was straightening when she felt something rock solid pressed against her back. She froze, trembling, when she felt large hands rest on her hips.

She tried to run away, but the hands held her in place. She was about to scream when her pride blotted out her common sense. She was Bulma Brief. She wasn't going to run away screaming like a damsel in distress. She wasn't that kind of girl. She was strong, independent, and in control. Powerful. No one could or would ever mess with her. At least, that was what she told herself. When she actually spoke, her voice came out in a squeak. "Get away from me."

The scent of raw meat, blood, decay, death filled her nostrils. She felt sick. "It's far too late for that, little woman. I've claimed you."

Bulma's pride be damned. When those rough, calloused hands ripped – ripped! – her jacket off her, she knew she had waded into dangerous waters. A terrified shriek ripped through her throat and pierced the still night air. No sooner had she uttered the sound of distress than she felt a new agonizing pain exploding in the side of her head. She was too dazed to scream again. Muted by surprise and fear, she couldn't call for help when her blouse was pulled over her head, her bra was torn off, her skirt hiked up around her waist and her panties shredded by the quick, deft hands of a madman.

'No!' her mind cried, 'No, don't do this to me! Please, please, not this! Please!'

She clamped her eyes shut and grunted when she was dropped to the ground. An immovable weight descended on her, holding her down despite her frantic struggles. She heard a zipper, then felt the thing she feared most brush against her thigh. She refused to open her eyes. She shook her head, not wanting to believe it was real. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she silently mouthed "no" over and over, never able to get her voice to work. Then she smelled that foul stench again and felt warm breath on her parted lips.

"Why don't you want this, woman?" That voice, that horrible, gruff voice asked. "I am everything you've ever wanted and more. I am power incarnate."

Bulma heard his dark chuckle and started sobbing. It was real. She couldn't block it out, she couldn't escape. He was invading every one of her senses. He was the most real thing she had ever encountered in her life. He was exactly what he said he was. He was too powerful for her. He was using her. Using_ her_, Bulma Brief! Was everything else he said true as well? Did she bring this on herself? No, she couldn't think like that, rape victims were never at fault. Never, never, never. But then, this wasn't an ordinary rape, was it? This was an act of power. Well, wasn't rape always about power? Yes, maybe that was true, but this was different. This was a power struggle between Bulma fucking Brief and Vegeta. Power itself. He was showing her in, ironically, the most powerful way possible that he was the one in control, he was the one calling the shots. He was making her his bitch. Here she was, begging him to stop, begging him for mercy, if only in her head. She was disgusted with herself, disgusted that she was so easily being overpowered. This had never happened to her before. Was it because of him? Did her success really come from him? Would he take it away from her if she denied him? How could she give that up? Power was more important to her than life itself. She couldn't give that up. She would cease to be Bulma Brief. But wasn't she giving up power anyway by letting him have his way with her?

"I don't want you," she finally managed to whisper. "I want what you give me, but I don't want _you_."

"Too bad. I come with the package." He laughed at the double meaning and spread her legs. "Get used to it, bitch." He groaned as he forcefully entered her body.

Bulma roared in pain and her body bucked, as if entreating him to continue. She scratched the ground, digging up grass and dirt with her fingers. She couldn't believe her body's betrayal, she couldn't believe the agony. Was this what it was always like the first time? She knew it was said to be painful, but like this? This was unbearable. She sobbed and writhed under the saiyan, wanting him to finish and leave her. She screamed each time he moved inside her, but her screams were muffled when he covered her mouth with his. Her stomach turned when she felt his hands roughly caressing her body, obviously more for his own pleasure than hers. He was enjoying her body, taking advantage of her vulnerability. She felt degraded, dehumanized,_ weak_.

It felt like hours passed before he started thrusting faster, harder, practically tearing her apart inside. He growled, a deep, rumbling sound in his chest, as he finished with her. He was hardly out of breath as he tucked himself in his pants, zipped up, and moved off her. He stood up and sneered at her as she curled into the fetal position and cried.

"You're all mine, woman. No other saiyan will ever touch you." He knelt down next to her and brushed her hair from her face. The tender act only made her feel more powerless, like a child. "You should feel honored to be my human. You're bonded to the Prince of all Saiyans."

She sat in her car in the driveway of the Capsule Corporation compound, unable to bring herself to get out and go inside. His words echoed through her mind, though she was hardly able to make sense of them. She still didn't understand what a saiyan was, what it meant that she belonged to him, and that last part…the prince? Weren't princes supposed to be, well, charming? He certainly wasn't. He was terrifying.

With a trembling hand she reached over and opened her door, then stood on shaky legs. Her body hurt all over. He clawed at her, squeezed her soft flesh, tore her apart inside. She was sure she would be covered in bruises she wouldn't be able to hide. How could she explain them to her parents? It was too shameful to admit she had been raped. Especially after being told by the board that she was an incompetent president. After losing millions…after losing her mind, becoming addicted to medication. Kami, her life was crashing down around her. Of all times for some psychopath to come, swooping down like a crazed predator, claiming to be some creature she had _sold_ herself to. It was all so confusing it made her head hurt.

Wiping away the tear stains from her face, she trudged up to the front door of her home and went inside, dropping her briefcase by the door and heading upstairs to sleep. Forget food, forget talking to her parents. She didn't care that she slept all afternoon, all evening. She wanted to sleep and forget for a while what had happened to her. Then she could think about it in the morning more rationally and decide where to go from there.

And that night, she had no trouble falling asleep. She didn't feel haunted in her room, and the shadows didn't lurk menacingly in her bedroom. Despite what had happened, she felt as if an enormous burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

_A/N: I know it's your right as readers, but if you're going to review and say "Vegeta wouldn't rape!" then don't bother. If you couldn't see it coming a mile away, then you missed the cues, the rating of the story, the genre, and the warning at the beginning of the chapter. You didn't have to read it. Besides, this is VERY AU as said in the summary, so they're not completely in character and Vegeta's very much evil in this. Okay, I'm done defending. Any other reviews are welcome. Oh, and for those of you who hate Bulma's character in this... yeah. Intentional. You're not supposed to like her that well._

_Beta'd by lilpumpkingirl_


	7. Chapter 6: AllStar

Chapter 6  
>All-Star<p>

There were no words to explain it. Bulma couldn't report being raped to the authorities even if she wanted to. There was no evidence, nothing. No marks on her body, no DNA of the man in her… She sighed, completing yet another inspection of her body. It was almost a week ago that it happened, and every day she expected some sort of bruise to appear somewhere on her body. But it was as if it never happened. Aside from the horrific memory, she might have thought it hadn't happened at all. Had she dreamed it? Rarely were dreams so frighteningly vivid, and rarely did she wake up from one and actually feel pain where she had been hurt.

With a half-hearted shrug she wrapped her towel around her body and started blow drying her hair. Already it was late morning and she had just gotten out of bed half an hour ago to take a shower. She hadn't been feeling too well with a slight fever and nausea – nothing but side effects from her attempt to break her addiction to the anti-anxiety medication – and there was no reason for her to wake up early since she couldn't go in to work if she wanted to. No, her ban from Capsule Corporation was still in effect. When she finally mustered the courage to tell her parents what happened, she was astonished that they actually supported the board of trustees. More than angry she was hurt that they felt she had to be kicked out of her position in order to regain control of her life. They were relieved that she was going to get some much needed rest. To them, she was being forced to go on vacation. To her, she was being punished for a few honest mistakes.

But then, was that what she needed? To be _forced_ to rest? She had to admit, since the board told her to take a couple weeks off (to put it nicely) she had gotten the best sleep she could remember. Almost ten hours every day, never waking through the night, having no trouble getting to sleep. No more insomnia, no more paranoia, no more sense of dread. Had her intuition been telling her all that time that she was going to be attacked by that man? What was his name – Vegeta? Strangely, her bizarre and hurtful encounter brought her relief. Rest, peace of mind.

Well, peace compared to what she had been experiencing for weeks and months. But now that she knew someone was out there, someone who claimed he owned her, someone who had the gall to rape her and call her his bitch, how could she ever feel safe? Somehow he had gotten through security and kept out of the view of surveillance equipment. Of course that had been one of the first things she wanted to investigate with her newfound free time; she hacked into the security system at headquarters from her home computer to access the security videos from that night. The incident was not recorded by a single camera even though she was sure that at least at some point they had been somewhere in view of _one _of the many cameras - almost as if they weren't there at all. Strange, but it explained why no one had come to save her, no one had called to report what had happened, no one called to ask for a statement about the crime. It seemed aside from him, Bulma Brief was the only person in the world who knew what happened. That was just as well, she concluded. She didn't want anyone, not even her parents, to know what happened to her. How she had been so _weak _and _helpless_. How the most powerful woman in the world had been used by some sort of monster. It was humiliating, degrading…

She shook her head, not wanting to think about it anymore. There were more enjoyable things to occupy her mind. Namely, the baseball game she was going to that day with her father. He decided that since she was off work for a couple weeks and because she needed something to do that would be fun and relaxing, he would take her to see a West City Taitans game. Of course she wasn't much interested in baseball, but he was, and if he would have a good time, Bulma decided she could afford to go with him. Even if baseball wasn't really her kind of entertainment, she could still have fun at the ball park taking in all the sights and sounds, feeding off the energy of the crowd.

When her hair was dry, she pulled it back into a ponytail and went to her bedroom to get dressed. There was no need to dress professionally. But she still couldn't bring herself to dress like a total bum, even if she was sort of out of work and going to a ball game for a fun day with her father. There would still be plenty of media there, and no doubt her presence would attract some attention. Fortunately, the board had kept her leave out of the media, so no one but her family, the board, and maybe some of the highest ranking employees at the company knew what had happened.

After considering her casual wardrobe, most of which she hadn't worn in an extremely long time, she decided on a white Capsule Corporation t-shirt and a pair of yellow shorts. At least she was still representing her company, and she looked good even if she wasn't wearing a fancy dress or a business suit. Honestly, she could pull anything off. She laughed to herself as she checked herself over in the mirror of her vanity. Kami, she was like a new person. The lively sparkle had returned to her azure eyes and the dark circles had all but disappeared. She felt more energized and clear-headed (when she wasn't knocked off her feet with a severe migraine). She was almost coming to understand the board's decision. How _had_ she been functioning before? It was amazing, even to her.

Smiling cheerfully, she slipped on a pair of white sandals and left her room to go downstairs for breakfast. She wasn't surprised that her father was already in his laboratory tinkering around, killing time before they would leave for the baseball game. Her mother was still in the kitchen cleaning up after breakfast, though there was a plate of eggs and bacon laid out on the table for Bulma. Probably not warm anymore. Bulma picked it up and put it in the microwave to reheat it before eating.

"Good morning, dear," Mrs. Brief chirped. "How are you feeling?"

"Good, Mom," Bulma said. She took the plate out of the microwave when it beeped. "I'm _almost_ able to forgive the board for kicking me out. I feel a lot better."

Mrs. Brief chuckled lightly. "I'm glad to hear it, honey."

"Still doesn't mean I'm not going to fire their asses as soon as I get the chance," Bulma clarified as she sat down and started eating.

"Of course, dear," her mother replied. Either she hadn't been listening or she didn't believe her daughter's threat. Bulma was afraid it was the latter. Had she really lost that much respect, even from her parents? She frowned a little, unable to keep from feeling hurt.

Aside from the sounds of Mrs. Brief scouring the skillet she used to fry the eggs and rinsing the dishes after washing them the kitchen was filled with silence. Bulma didn't mind, but she was unfortunately left to stew in her thoughts as the conversation died. She wasn't a little girl anymore, so why was she being treated like one? When she said something she meant it. When someone damaged her pride or image, she always got revenge for it. The board was not exempt from that rule.

Seemingly out of the blue, Mrs. Brief commented, "I do hope you'll settle down a little now that you know your limits. Oh, maybe you'll finally find a nice young man and get married. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

Bulma snorted, nearly choking on her eggs. "As if, Mother! I have no intention of ever getting married. There's no one worthy enough to marry _me_."

Mrs. Brief merely giggled. "I don't know, dear. I think you'll find somebody if you'd stop shutting yourself off from the world."

The blue-haired heiress didn't bother arguing with her mother. It was an ongoing battle between them. What she didn't want to mention was that the thought of being with a man now thoroughly disgusted her. Whatever desire she may have had at one time to be with a man was disintegrated after her experience with Vegeta. Sex was a horrible, painful thing she wanted no part in, and every man wanted sex more than anything from women, right? No, men were not to be trusted, and she didn't want any sort of intimate relationship with one.

When she finished her breakfast, Bulma carried her plate over to the sink and kissed her mother's cheek. "Thanks for the food, Mom. I'm going to go see what Dad's up to."

"Sure, sweetie."

Bulma walked out of the kitchen and turned down the hall toward her father's laboratory. It wasn't a place she'd gone very often in the past few years, but as soon as she walked in she felt at ease. This was really where her career at Capsule Corporation started, helping her father with his projects, watching other scientists work before the company expanded, before she had her own laboratory in a different area of the compound. She walked down the stairs to the underground lab and spotted her father sitting at a workstation soldering something.

"Hey, Dad," she greeted him once she knew he was aware of her presence. She learned at a young age never to startle him while he was working, both for his safety and to prevent him messing up whatever it was he was doing. "What're you working on?"

Dr. Brief pushed his goggles up on his forehead and wiped his hands on an old, dirty rag. "Nothing important, dear. Just an old servant bot that's been acting up."

"Oh." Bulma was disappointed that he wasn't creating some new invention or improving an old one aside from routine maintenance. In a way she missed working by his side, helping him work out the logistics and calculations for new machines and upgrades to old ones. She learned more from him than she did in all of her schooling. He truly was a genius and an excellent teacher with the hands-on approach to learning. But despite his genius he hadn't been inventing much in recent years; first running the company had taken most of his time, and then when she took over he seemed to lose much of his interest in coming up with new innovations. Maybe he felt he had enough patents under his belt. Maybe he felt obsolete when his daughter took the company from him. Bulma felt a sickening bout of guilt thinking about it. He seemed happy enough to resign and let her take over, but had he really wanted to? Had her desire for power been too great even then? She sighed.

Dr. Brief smiled as he patted her back. "Well, dear, what do you say we go upstairs and have a game of pool?"

What, now she couldn't even help him fix servant bots? Was he purposely pushing her out of his laboratory, excluding her from what little work he still did? She smiled a little and nodded. "Sure, sounds fun."

Father and daughter went upstairs to the recreation room where their pool table was and started a game. It had been so long since they ever played Bulma couldn't even remember when their last game was. Her father was the only person who could challenge her as his knowledge of physics was at least as extensive as hers, so she enjoyed playing with him. Having to fight to stay in the game was much more fun than practically playing by herself. As they played they quipped and bantered and shared memories of years ago when she was still relaxed and he was the easygoing president of Capsule Corporation. Nostalgia wormed its way into Bulma's heart until she was almost sick with it. Why had she forced things to change as quickly as they did? She wasn't even thirty years old yet, why did she feel the need to take over the company? Why did she want this kind of stress? Hell, it nearly killed her and she was too blinded by her drive for power to see it.

_Had_ she sold herself to power? Her thoughts became a distraction that ultimately made her lose the game to her father. Blaming it on being out of practice, she challenged him to another game, this time trying harder to keep her head in the game. But as before her thoughts wandered back to her terrible experience only a week earlier. _"You did it for power. I am power_._" _She tried to shake the memory of his words out of her head. It wasn't true. She hadn't done anything for _him_. Power, yes, but he couldn't be the incarnation of power. That didn't make any sense. There was no such thing as beings living in another realm parallel to her world.

"What's on your mind, Bulma?" Dr. Brief asked when he saw his daughter wasn't paying attention to their game any longer. She had a faraway look in her eyes, the same as she always did when her mind was somewhere else entirely.

She looked at her father blankly for a moment, then her mind cleared and she shrugged casually. "Nothing much. Have you ever heard of saiyans?"

Dr. Brief cocked his head to the side as he thought about that. "No, dear, it doesn't ring a bell. Why, what are saiyans?"

"I'm not sure exactly." She shrugged again, considering the discussion over. "Just a word I heard a few days ago. Might be some sort of mythological creature or something." She laughed a little, weakly.

Her father eyed her suspiciously for a minute before also shrugging and turning their attention back to the pool table. "It's your turn, dear."

"Oh, right." She quickly surveyed the positions of all the remaining balls and decided to try to pocket the nine ball. That done, she continued on to pocket the eleven ball, but she didn't get the three in, so her turn was over.

When it was lunchtime, they went downstairs to eat. By then Bulma was feeling antsy. She wasn't used to spending her days relaxing, lazing about the compound without any sort of work on her mind. No contracts, no meetings, no nothing. If her parents hadn't been so happy to have her home and willing to keep her occupied with activities of various sorts she knew she would have been bored out of her mind. But her mother often had her help with cooking and gardening, and her father would discuss the news with her or debate whether they could prove the laws of physics wrong. Bulma may also have been feeling jittery as a withdrawal symptom since she had been forcing herself to stop drinking caffeinated beverages and taking the anti-anxiety medicine cold turkey. It was painful and unpleasant, but she was determined to break her addiction to both before the two weeks were up. She wanted the board to have nothing to hold against her so she could return to work promptly.

Once they were done with their meal, Bulma and Dr. Brief stood up and prepared to leave for the ball game. Bulma thought it was ridiculous to go so early, but her father insisted they go, so she wasn't going to complain. Mrs. Brief cleared off the table while wishing them to have a good time.

"Will you be home for dinner?" she asked once the dishes were all taken to the sink.

Bulma looked to her father for an answer, so he replied, "I believe so, dear, unless they go into extra innings. But I doubt that will happen. I'll call you if it looks like we'll be late."

"All right," Mrs. Brief said. "Well, try to have fun, Bulma, and relax!"

"I'll try," Bulma answered, grinning as she hugged her mother goodbye. "See you later."

Dr. Brief and Bulma went outside to the driveway, Bulma insisting she would drive them to the ballpark. He relented easily enough as he never much cared for driving anyway. But as she crawled into the driver's seat she couldn't help thinking how pathetic she was needing control even in this situation. _She_ had to be the driver, _she_ had to have the power. How stupid. She groaned, pushing that thought out of her head before it could fully take root. Now what, was she going to be constantly thinking about her power addiction? 'Thanks, Vegeta,' she thought bitterly, 'If power wasn't constantly on my mind before, it is now.' She could practically hear his laughter, that dark, menacing chuckle. Shuddering, she started the engine and pulled out of the driveway.

It took them over half an hour to get to Taitan Stadium since it was on the other side of the city from the Capsule Corporation compound. The parking lot was already filling, which she figured was at least part of the reason her father insisted they arrive so early before the game. She found a parking space soon enough, and surprisingly it wasn't _too _far out in the boondocks. Before getting out of the car she put on a pair of large white-rimmed sunglasses, wanting to hide her identity a little in case they ran into any reporters. At least it wasn't extremely hot outside, so the walk to the stadium wasn't unbearable. While they were walking together, Bulma and Dr. Brief talked about trivial subjects, such as whether or not to paint the living room a different color or build a storage shed on the compound grounds. Bulma didn't mind the drivel; it was actually a pleasant change from the demands of the company.

Fifteen minutes later they were seated and waiting for the game to start. The two teams, the West City Taitans and the North City Gigantes, were already on the field warming up. It was no surprise to Bulma that they had front-row seats right above the home team's dugout. They were the best seats in the stadium – and the most expensive. Bulma reclined back in her seat and crossed her legs, watching the athletes stretching and jogging lightly in the outfield. There wasn't much to catch her interest.

"Oh. My. Kami! Is that him? Is that Yamcha?" a girl a few rows back screamed until her voice surely broke some sort of record with its high pitch.

Bulma turned to glare at the girl, but the crazed creature was too busy pointing and swooning over one of the players out on the field to notice. Sneering with contempt, Bulma twisted around in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. What an idiot. And it looked like she was surrounded by equally idiotic and sex-crazed friends. Maybe they were already drunk. Kami, she hoped so, or else they would only get worse through the game.

Chuckling, Dr. Brief patted her hand. "They must be fans of the Taitans' star player."

"Who?"

"Yamcha. Number 00. He's a six-time all-star, which is impressive considering he's only _been_ playing in the major league for six years," Dr. Brief explained.

Bulma looked over to where he was pointing and shrugged. "So what? He doesn't look like anything special to me. He's scrawny and his hair is disgusting."

Dr. Brief laughed outright that time. "Of course, dear."

As the time for the game to start drew closer, the girls behind the Briefs grew increasingly obnoxious, screaming at the top of their lungs and trying desperately to gain the attention of the famous baseball player. Bulma grit her teeth, trying to keep herself from going up there and slapping them silly. Her ears were ringing with the constant shrieks. How could those girls act so foolishly over a man who would likely never give them the time of day? It was ridiculous and she almost felt embarrassed on their behalf.

But when the home team returned to the dugout after their warm-ups, the man wearing number 00 stopped and waved at the group of girls who in turn screamed louder and more fervently. He grinned, almost shyly, and went down into the dugout to wait for the start of the game. Bulma was left stunned. Okay, so he _did_ give them the time of day and he was _kind_ of cute. Nothing to obsess over by any means. She sniffed haughtily and averted her gaze from the dugout.

By then the stadium had almost filled and the roar of the crowd was loud enough to drown out the screeching and shrieking of the rabid pack of hormonal girls. Honestly, they couldn't be any older than college-age. How old was Yamcha? Probably too old for them. Bulma decided not to think about it anymore as the Taitans emerged from the dugout again and took their places on the field. Yamcha was the centerfielder, so he was so far away she couldn't see him clearly. Not that she was _that_ interested in him.

A few minutes later the game started as the first batter stepped up to home plate. After two fouls, the batter hit the ball deep, but not far enough for a homerun. Yamcha caught the ball easily and threw it back to the pitcher. One out. Bulma sighed quietly. So far there wasn't much of anything to get excited about, but she wasn't going to show her boredom since she was really there for her father. Watching him from the corner of her eye, she could see he was enjoying himself, which made her smile fondly. It wasn't the first ball game they'd gone to together, but it was definitely the first in at least ten years. When she started college as a teenager she didn't have much time for fun. She double-majored in business and mechanical engineering as an undergraduate, then went on to earn a master's degree in both business and engineering and a doctorate in engineering. After that she went back to school again for another doctorate in computer science. She started a master's program in mathematics, but she hadn't ever finished it as work at Capsule Corporation became too demanding.

Damn it, there she was thinking of the past and regretting it again. Why hadn't she made more time to spend with her parents? She had always been so obsessed with work she nearly forgot to enjoy life. Actually she _had_ forgotten. She sighed again, this time more audibly, but it was covered by the sound of cheering as the Taitans got the third out.

"What an outstanding play," Dr. Brief commented.

Bulma nodded her agreement. Her eyes may have been on the game, but she hadn't been watching and had no idea what play he was talking about. But then it showed on a huge screen as an instant replay and she saw the Taitans get two outs when the batter struck out and they caught the man on first trying to steal second. "Yeah, that was something."

By then the Taitans were returning to the dugout and Yamcha again waved to the crowd, grinning from ear to ear. Bulma rolled her eyes. Either he liked his fans a whole lot or he was good at faking it. She almost found herself condemning him for it, but then she considered how she was the exact same way. Always working to please the public no matter how little she cared for them.

As the game progressed she found herself becoming more interested in it. Maybe it was the enthusiasm of the crowd infecting her or maybe it really was a particularly interesting game. Either way, by the eighth inning she was cheering along with the rest of them whenever a Taitan made it home or got a Gigante out. Now she understood why Yamcha was such a famous, loved player: he got a home run almost every time he went up to bat, and when he didn't he at least got a double. And as great as he was on the offense, he was also a great defensive player. Definitely all-star material, Bulma had to admit.

At the end of the eighth inning, Yamcha again stopped to wave at the crowd, but Bulma felt like he was looking at _her_ more than anyone else. But why? She wasn't screaming and waving like a schoolgirl. And surely he didn't recognize her. After all, she was still wearing her shades and her clothes weren't exactly a dead giveaway. Did he recognize her father? Unlikely; he had never been in the public eye like she was. By the time she reached the conclusion that he had no idea who she was and probably wasn't eyeing her, he had already disappeared into the dugout. Well, whatever.

The Taitans were leading 13-2 in the top of the ninth. Everyone knew who was going to win, but no one was leaving the stadium early to avoid traffic. The girls behind Bulma and her father were more quiet, their voices probably hoarse and their throats sore from their incessant ululating. The first two batters were struck out and the third was a pop out. Game over.

As the fans around them started standing and filing out of the stadium, Dr. Brief stayed seated, patiently waiting for the crowd to thin out. Bulma didn't blame him. Someone could get crushed to death in that mass of drunken people. They waited at least ten minutes. Some of the more avid fans had gone down to beg for autographs and pictures from the players who were standing in and around the dugout, many of them talking to fans and giving the autographs the people so desperately wanted. Yamcha was swamped with fans more than any of the other players, which wasn't much of a surprise to Bulma.

What did surprise her was when her father stood up and also went down to where there was a small horde of fans fighting to get Yamcha's attention. She ran to catch up with him and grabbed his elbow. "Dad, what are you doing?"

Dr. Brief kept walking, dragging her along with him. "I'm going to get an autograph, dear. I think your mother would like one."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "No she wouldn't, she doesn't even like baseball."

"Well, I'd like one." Dr. Brief continued on despite his daughter's protests. Bulma blushed, but it was mostly covered by her sunglasses. She didn't want to be mixed in with these people. She was above this nonsense. Honestly, a Brief didn't beg for an autograph from some lunk-head athlete!

If Bulma wasn't mistaken, Yamcha seemed purposeful in ignoring her father until he was the last one standing in line waiting for an autograph. They were practically at eye level with him, but a little higher. Yamcha took off his cap when he reached up to shake Dr. Brief's hand. "Hi, there! How you doing?"

"Fine, my boy," Dr. Brief said. "Good game."

"Thank you, sir." Yamcha grinned. Bulma quirked an eyebrow as she crossed her arms. Was this guy for real? She doubted the whiteness of his teeth was. "Would you like an autograph?"

Dr. Brief nodded. "That would be great, if you don't mind. My wife couldn't make it to the game, you see, and she's quite a fan…"

Bulma snorted. What a lie! But at least he was maintaining some dignity by not begging like all the other pitiful fans.

"Sure thing," Yamcha replied cheerfully. He pulled a baseball out of his pocket and held it up. It was the ball he caught in the seventh inning to get the third out. "How about I sign this for her?"

"Wonderful." Dr. Brief waited patiently as Yamcha signed the baseball and handed it to him. Dr. Brief inspected it a second before stuffing it in his pocket. "Thank you."

"No problem. And what about you, Miss? Come to congratulate me on an amazing game?" he asked. She thought he was being sarcastic, or at least cheeky. Did he know she didn't want to be there talking to him?

Bulma sneered. "I would have had you not already congratulated yourself, you pompous prick."

Yamcha's eyes widened comically. "Whoa, that's not what I meant!"

"It came off that way," she snapped back.

Dr. Brief chuckled. "You'll have to forgive my daughter," he said, "She's a little stingy with compliments."

Yamcha laughed with him. "It's not a problem, sir. Well, how about I make it up to you? Would you like your own autograph?"

"Not really," Bulma said.

One of the Taitans was standing close enough to hear the end of their exchange. Laughing, he clapped Yamcha on the back. "Whooey! You sure do have a way with women!"

Bulma scowled at him, and though her eyes were covered by the dark glasses, he backed away and didn't say any more. Her scowl turned into a sneer. "What a jerk."

"He can be," Yamcha agreed, shrugging. "Anyway, I'm sorry if I somehow offended you, Miss."

She rolled her eyes and turned to leave, but he reached up and caught her wrist. She tried to yank her hand away, but he held fast, demanding her attention for one more minute. Finally, she turned back to him and raised an eyebrow high enough to peak over the rim of her sunglasses. "What?"

"Could I at least know your name?"

Growling, she turned away again. "Why would you want my name?"

"So I could know what to call you if I ever see you again."

What was with this guy? He was being very forward with her, and she didn't feel comfortable with it. She was used to men fawning over her, but this was too much. He was so… so _sweet_ about it. Not pushy in an arrogant, self-absorbed way that she was so used to. Whether or not she resolved not to give in to his charm, she found herself crumbling.

"Bulma."

"Bulma?" he asked. Recognition played across his face. "Bulma Brief?"

She nodded once. So he really hadn't known. That was a nice change. Usually guys only went after her when they knew who she was, hoping to leech off her fame and fortune. Of course she was beautiful, but most men were content to sit back and look, not approach her.

He smiled again, flashing his white teeth at her. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Bulma Brief."

"You don't have to be so formal," she told him.

"Sorry." He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling bashfully. "Wow, I really made an ass of myself, didn't I?"

She laughed a little. "Kind of."

"Guess you'd better catch up with your dad."

"Huh?" Bulma looked behind her and saw the receding form of her father several yards away already. Her jaw went slack. Was he _hoping _this would happen? That sneak! She glowered at his back before turning back to Yamcha. "Yeah, I'd better go. Goodbye."

"Will you come to another game?" he called after her.

She glanced over her shoulder and shrugged, smiling coyly. "If I have time."

Bulma mentally berated herself on the drive home. _If I have time_? What the hell was that about? She wasn't interested in him! She didn't even care to be friends with him! And even if she did, she didn't have time for friends. Bulma Brief was a lone wolf; she didn't need anyone but her parents. Besides, relationships never worked out for her. Even if Yamcha did act all sweet and shy, she doubted he really was. It was an act. Maybe he was hoping to get her into bed. He'd probably been with dozens of female fans. He was probably a total creep. Still, she couldn't help thinking he seemed genuine, even if she knew better than to believe any famous person could be that real.

She was broken out of her thoughts when Dr. Brief said, "I had a lot of fun today. Maybe we could go to another game."

Had he heard what she said to Yamcha before leaving? She gave a short grunt, not wanting to commit herself to anything. "Maybe."

"Their next series is in West City."

"Oh."

Dr. Brief nodded to himself, his mustache twitching mischievously. "Yes, I think I'll buy us tickets to the next three games. What do you say?"

Bulma groaned, but it was covered by the sound of a loud motorcycle racing past in the lane to their right. She was sure she felt another monumental headache coming on, and this time she wasn't sure she could blame it on withdrawal. "If you want to, Dad."

'Kami, now he's going to think I'm stalking him or something!' Bulma thought. Who went to four games in a row, especially after saying something like _If I have time_? She felt foolish now. So much for blowing him off nicely. He would probably see her at every single game and think she came just to see him. Well, she certainly wasn't going to see _him_. She was going to watch the game with her father who just so happened to be an avid Taitans fan. End of story.

_A/N: I actually have a Saturday off work! Hooray! So hopefully I can write another chapter of this story because the next chapter's the last one I have finished at this point in time. Thank you for all the kind reviews on the last chapter (and the whole story). I very much appreciate all of them and I hope you'll grace me with more on this chapter. It might help me focus a little better...since finishing my last epic story I've had a hard time concentrating on a single story, so now I have about six in the works and none of them are going anywhere. But I still think I'm going to try to finish this one before I work hard on any of the others._

_Beta'd by lilpumpkingirl_


	8. Chapter 7: Restoration

Chapter 7  
>Restoration<p>

Bulma was scheduled to go in for her mental and physical check-up the next day, but it wasn't even on her mind. Her two-week mandatory vacation was almost over, and for the first time she wished it were only beginning. Once the board saw how stable she had become they would undoubtedly hand over her presidential duties to her; perhaps she could lie, make herself seem crazy and distraught, unfit to run her corporation. She didn't want to return to work so soon, not after she finally found another source of happiness. Less than a week ago she would have thought it impossible, even laughable, but she was in a relationship.

It was a whirlwind romance of sorts after her father dragged her to three more Taitans games after she first met Yamcha. How absurd! The great Bulma Brief dating a baseball player; granted, he was the greatest out there, but still, an athlete? She never would have imagined herself with someone like him. His highest level of education was high school and a semester of classes at a junior college. He was no genius, at least not by her standards. A baseball genius, perhaps, but what did that account for? He wasn't contributing to society, he had nothing to offer her company except maybe advertising potential. For some reason, Bulma didn't mind that he was what she would have at one time considered to be beneath her. Something about him made her overlook his flaws (and there were several), which was more than she had ever been able to do with any of her previous failed relationships.

As much as she liked him, it took her a while to shake the fear that he was using her. After all, she was the richest, most beautiful and influential woman in the world. Did he think he could use their relationship to his advantage somehow? Was she nothing more to him than a conquest, a prize no other man could win? It was unnerving, but these fears didn't make Bulma think twice about dating him. She knew in the back of her mind that she should be wary of him; for Kami's sake, she had only known him a few days! And yet, he seemed like the most genuine person she knew aside from her parents. He was truly caring, gentle, and bashful. At the same time, he was confident, strong, and even-tempered. Not a pushover, but he wasn't someone she could go head-to-head with because he simply wouldn't let her. He allowed her insults to roll off him and he brushed aside her ranting and complaining like nothing. She had never had someone deal with her in such a way before. Every other man she ever tried dating either bent to her will or tried fighting back. Not Yamcha. He was more indirect in dealing with her ire, and she found it oddly satisfying. He allowed her to be her without losing himself or becoming defensive in the process.

Their relationship was still young, but Bulma could honestly say she was happy with him. He made her feel special and listened to her, even when he couldn't understand a word she said as she spouted off scientific or business jargon as entire sentences. In turn, he would talk to her about what _he_ knew: baseball, martial arts, and some other sports. At first she wasn't interested and honestly he bored her, but he drew her in with his passion and sense of humor and soon she was hanging off his every word, asking him for more stories and watching sports with a new appreciation for them.

They went on their first official date the night before she would return to headquarters for her check-up. It was a simple date, the classic dinner and a movie, but she had a wonderful time. As different as they were, they found many things to talk about over dinner, and they discovered they had the same taste in movies: action with a side of romance and drama. Yamcha took her to an upscale Japanese restaurant, one she hadn't yet been to and turned out to have delicious food. And at the movie theater they were somehow able to keep a low profile, avoiding harassment from adoring fans and paparazzi. She couldn't have asked for a better evening spent with her new boyfriend. It was better than she ever dreamed, and it was only the beginning.

And that was why she was reluctant to return to work at Capsule Corporation so soon. The past two weeks were a time of reflection and introspection for Bulma Brief. She realized how driven she had been her entire life, fighting for greater power and prestige any way she could get it. Grasping for her father's company before he was ready to hand it over, fighting with competing businesses to produce the newest and most innovative products, and pulling politicians' strings to gain her company more benefits and funding. She had been obsessed with power, addicted to its glory. She had been seduced by its thrall.

Bulma wasn't sure if power was physical or not. Was Vegeta real? There were no marks on her body left from his attack. No bruises, cuts, scrapes, nothing. The first week went by and she was still sure it had happened. It seemed so _real_. The memory was so vivid, each sense overwhelmed with the reality of the situation. The smell of his breath and the grass, the feel of the cool ground beneath her and his hands pawing at her soft flesh, the taste of his mouth, the sound of his breathing and her heart hammering in her chest. How could she have imagined anything so accurately, so realistically? Thinking back on her experience still invoked fear, rage, and disgust. She had been violated, used like a common whore by that – that thing. Whatever he was.

After the second week, though, she wasn't so sure about it. Her memory of the experience was fading; no longer did the senses seem so acute, so lifelike. She forgot his exact words and the fear was lessening until she barely felt it when she dug up the memory. But was it a memory? Was it her imagination? Perhaps it had only been a dream. A terrible nightmare dreamt up because of her being thrown out of her position as president of the corporation. Perhaps it was her mind's attempt to give her humiliation and anger a face, something she could focus her hatred on until it consumed her. It turned on her, showed her what a fool she had been to give up her life for the quest for power. Her mind made power into something tangible, something horrible and disgusting, something she would be reviled by so she could break her addiction.

No amount of power was worth losing what she realized she had given up. Time with her parents, the chance to have a happy, normal life with a husband. Maybe she _would_ get married someday, maybe even have children. She had never considered herself the type of woman to settle down and have a family, even when she was a young girl. It never sounded appealing. When she was a teenager, she of course wanted a boyfriend, but she chalked that up to her hormones controlling her. She may have wanted a boyfriend, but she never saw marriage in her future. She knew then that she would be too busy with the corporation, forming it into something even bigger and better than her father ever hoped for it. But had that only been the lust for power overriding her true desires? Was she so unlike every other woman in the world? She used to think so, but since Yamcha entered her life she wasn't so sure.

Bulma stood in front of her full-length mirror, admiring herself one last time before slipping out of her cocktail dress and combing out the curls in her hair. She was a stunning beauty; it was hard to tell she had been so terribly sleep-deprived only two weeks earlier. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes had a spark of feistiness in them. Her lips were full and red and she no longer looked old and gaunt. Never had she ever thought she would be happy about gaining weight, but then she never thought she would lose enough to look unhealthy and haggard. Her body was filling out, making her hips more rounded and adding a fullness to her curves that had been lacking. She grinned and winked at herself, then reached around to unzip her dress as she walked to her closet to hang it up before changing into her pajamas.

"I wish I didn't have to go back to work tomorrow," she said through a sigh as she pulled on a silk chemise. "It would be so much more fun to spend the day with Yamcha since he doesn't have a game tomorrow."

She glanced over her shoulder when she thought she heard something. Her heart quickened until she saw that her balcony door was ajar as she had left it before her date to let the cool air in. Laughing at herself, she went over and closed it, then locked it and pulled the curtains closed. "Honestly, Bulma," she chided herself, "You don't need to go into panic mode again. There's no one here but you. It was all your imagination."

Now that she could view her paranoia in retrospect, she couldn't help but be amused by it all. Really, had she lost so many hours of sleep over nothing? No one was watching her, hunting her. It was her wild imagination getting the better of her. There was nothing to be worried about. There was no creep lurking about, waiting for a moment of vulnerability to pounce and rape her, claiming to own her. Still chuckling to herself, she went into her bathroom to wash the makeup off her face and brush her teeth. 'Vegeta,' she thought with a snort, 'How'd I come up with that one? What a ridiculous name!'

A few minutes later she turned off her light and slipped under the covers of her bed, relaxing as she shifted into a more comfortable position. She kept her eyes open, scanning around her room. No eerie shadows sprang across the walls, no soft sounds indicated the presence of another soul in her bedroom. Nothing looked different than it had for the past few months, but for some reason she couldn't even begin to figure out why she had been so scared, like a child hiding from the monsters under her bed. It was all funny to her now, and she laughed quietly to herself as she closed her eyes and yawned, allowing sleep to come over her and grant her another restful night.

Bulma woke up early the next morning feeling energetic and cheerful. She turned off her alarm almost as soon as it woke her up and got out of bed to take a shower and get ready for work. As much as she wanted to stay home another week – maybe longer – she knew she had responsibilities that she couldn't set aside any longer. She wasn't crazy anymore and she wasn't going to make more poor decisions for the company. Let the doctors examine her; they wouldn't find anything wrong. Bulma showered quickly and twisted her damp hair into a bun before dressing in a black pinstripe suit with a red blouse. She looked herself over in her mirror, nodding approvingly at her professional appearance. Grabbing her briefcase and a pair of black high heels, she left her room and went downstairs for breakfast.

Mrs. Brief was already in the kitchen making omelets and bacon for her family. She gave her daughter a peppy good morning and a peck on the cheek. "How are you feeling, Bulma dear? Are you ready to face the wolves?"

Bulma snorted as she poured herself a glass of cranberry juice. "More than ready. I can't wait to get back to work. I'm afraid to see how far the company's fallen behind without me."

"Oh, I'm sure it's not that bad, honey."

Shaking her head at her mother's optimism, Bulma sank down into her chair at the kitchen table and crossed her legs. "We'll have to wait and see."

There was a comfortable silence for a few minutes before Mrs. Brief spoke again, this time asking her daughter, "So how did your date go last night?"

Bulma couldn't help the grin that spread across her face when she replayed the date in her mind. "It was great, Mom. We weren't bothered by anyone trying to take pictures or get autographs, dinner was really good, and the movie was fun. Kami, I haven't been to a regular old theater in so long I almost forgot what it was like. I still don't know how we managed to stay under the radar!"

Mrs. Brief giggled excitedly as she carried a plate with bacon and an omelet stuffed with vegetables and cheese to the table, setting it in front of Bulma. It was then that Dr. Brief shuffled into the kitchen, still wearing his slippers and a lab coat over his pajamas, his black cat perched faithfully on his shoulder, and the morning paper tucked under his right arm. He kissed his wife on the cheek before sitting down at the table and unfolding his paper. "Good morning, Bulma."

"Morning, Dad," she said. Turning back to her mother, she added, "I hope we can go on another date soon, but I think he's going to be out of town for over a week. He's got games in South City and Gingertown before they have another series at home."

"Didn't you say he has today free?" Dr. Brief asked.

Bulma shrugged, though he couldn't see it over his newspaper. "Yeah, but I don't. I'm going to show the board that I'm perfectly capable of running _my_ business and I'm going to do just that as soon as I get the doctors' okay."

Dr. Brief chuckled softly and reached around his paper to pick up the cup of coffee his wife brought him. "I hope you're not still planning on firing the entire board."

"Of course I am!" Bulma snapped. "They should've known better than to mess with me." Though, she had to admit their insolence led to a huge improvement in her life. She was finally getting rest, she had broken her addiction to anti-anxiety medications, and she had a boyfriend who she felt she could actually trust and respect. Still, it was the principle of the matter. The board was _her_ bitch, not the other way around. She was going to have to remind them who held the real power in Capsule Corporation.

Bulma stayed to chat with her parents a few minutes after finishing her breakfast, but then she decided it was time to leave. Hugging her mother and kissing her dad's cheek, she told them goodbye and walked out of the kitchen, briefcase held in her hand and a confident bounce in her step. She went outside to the driveway and got into her car, then drove to the headquarters building, all the while plotting how she was going to get back at the board and regain her status as president.

The blue-haired heiress nodded to the receptionist as she strode through the lobby heading for the elevator. She paused when she reached the desk. "Is the board here yet?" she asked.

The receptionist put her hand over the phone receiver and answered, "Yes, Ms. Brief. They're waiting in the conference room."

"Thank you," Bulma said as she turned and continued toward the elevator. She pushed the up arrow and waited for the door to slide open, ignoring the scientists who gathered behind her, also waiting for the elevator. She wondered how many of them knew where she had been. Had word spread that she was temporarily relieved of her duties? Curious as she was, she wasn't ready to ask, afraid the answer would be yes. How could she face her employees if they knew her greatest humiliation? It was unbearable. The elevator door opened and she stepped into it, pushing the button to take her to the conference room while the others also boarded the elevator and started pushing the buttons to take them to their destinations. She sighed; she would have to make several stops on the way up, which would only give her time to grow more anxious.

Finally she reached the conference room, sneering when she saw the board of trustees having a laugh over a cup of coffee and pastries. She strode into the room, refusing to make eye contact with any of them before she reached the head of the table and slammed her briefcase down on its polished surface. She didn't sit, preferring to stay above them, forcing them to literally look up to her.

"Good morning, gentlemen," she said with mock politeness.

"Good morning, Ms. Brief," several of them murmured.

She turned her piercing gaze to the CEO, curling her lips into a fake smile. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we? I'm here, I'm better, and I'm ready to prove it. Tell me your requirements and I'll jump through your hoops. But I can assure you by the end of the day you'll be welcoming me back as your president and you will not _dare_ ever do this to me again."

Ignoring her threat, Mr. Jobs raised his eyebrows and glanced around at the other men seated around the table. His eyes returned to her as he replied, "Very well, Ms. Brief. We have set up an appointment for you with a Dr. Black for your physical. You also have an appointment with a psychiatrist, Dr. Carle." He paused, checking his watch, and continued, "There should be a limousine waiting for you to take you to your appointments. The first is at 9:00, so I suggest you hurry."

Bulma's eyes narrowed as she listened to the CEO. "Honestly, you could have at least had the decency to have the doctors come _here_," she hissed. Snatching up her briefcase and locking her cold glare on each board member before leaving, she added, "Enjoy pushing me around while you can. I've had enough of this bullshit."

She was fuming by the time she got out of the limousine at the clinic where she was scheduled to have her physical. She stormed in, startling the receptionist, and growled, "Bulma Brief here for my 9:00 appointment. Don't keep me waiting."

The receptionist gawked at the blue-haired heiress for a moment before stuttering, "M-Ms. Brief, of c-course. We just, uh, have some p-paperwork for you to, er, fill out." She pushed a clipboard across the counter and laid a pen on top. Bulma rolled her eyes as she picked up the clipboard and went to sit in a chair in the waiting area to fill out the paperwork. Just another minor irritation for her. Couldn't someone have sent her medical records from her own doctor? Why couldn't she see her own doctor anyway? She grumbled to herself as she signed her name and carried the clipboard back to the receptionist. No doubt they were afraid her doctor would be biased in her favor.

Bulma wasn't kept waiting long, and her appointment was brief. Not enjoyable, as she had to give both a blood and a urine sample, but aside from that, Dr. Black mainly asked her the usual questions about any symptoms of illnesses she may have had recently, whether or not she was sexually active, what medications she was taking, and if she had a family history of various diseases. He went through the usual routine, measuring her blood pressure and testing her reflexes. In all it only took about half an hour.

"You seem perfectly healthy," Dr. Black told her once they were finished. "Your records are confidential, but I will give my approval for you to return to work."

"Thank you, Dr. Black," Bulma said as she shook his hand.

After her first appointment, she was taken downtown to an old brick building with beautifully restored architecture. On the door she saw the office hours listed under the names of the two psychiatrists who practiced there. Frowning, she went in the door and met with another receptionist, a skinny brunette girl who looked as though she was barely old enough to have a job. Bulma forced a smile as she introduced herself. "I'm Bulma Brief – I have an appointment with Dr. Carle at 10:45."

The receptionist nodded shyly. "Of course. We have some paperwork for you to fill out…"

"Of course," Bulma muttered as she took the clipboard and sat down in one of the chairs in the waiting area. She felt a little uncomfortable answering some of the questions, but if it would help her get her job back she had to complete the paperwork. With a sigh she finished, signing her name and writing the date before giving the papers back to the receptionist. Since she was still considerably early for her appointment, she had to wait quite a while before she was greeted by the psychiatrist and led to her office.

"Ms. Brief, if you would have a seat over here," Dr. Carle said as she gestured to one of the comfortable chairs in the corner of the room near one of the large windows. Bulma sat down and looked out the window, watching the passers-by and cars driving by on the street. The psychiatrist sat in the other chair and crossed her ankles, a notepad held on her lap. "Now, why don't you tell me why you've come to see me?"

Bulma shrugged one shoulder. "I'm only here because the Capsule Corporation board of trustees think I need some sort of psychological assessment before they'll allow me to take over my duties as president again." She knew that answer wouldn't particularly please Dr. Carle. Clients should only come in on their own accord or helping them would be difficult and pointless. But she wasn't going to lie. She didn't think she needed psychiatric help.

"Yes, I understand that part," Dr. Carle replied patiently, "but what reason do they have to send you here?"

"I – I guess I hadn't been myself for a while," Bulma explained. "I was making some bad moves that were hurting the business and they believed it was because I was too stressed or something."

"Tell me about the stress," Dr. Carle said.

Bulma could hardly keep herself from rolling her eyes. "What is there to say? I'm running the biggest corporation in the world. That's a lot of pressure, even for me. I hadn't been sleeping well for the past few months and…" She trailed off, wanting Dr. Carle to say something. But the silence dragged on and she sighed before continuing, "I had been taking benzodiazepines to help my anxiety."

Dr. Carle nodded as she jotted some notes. "Were the drugs prescribed?"

"No." Bulma bit her lip. "I took them from the pharmacy at Capsule Corp."

The psychiatrist nodded again. Bulma thought she looked like a bobble-head. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and stuffed her hands in the pockets of her suit jacket to keep from fidgeting. But then she felt exposed, so she crossed her arms over her chest and turned her eyes to the window again. "I don't take them anymore. I stopped when the board gave me two weeks off."

"And you're not experiencing any withdrawal?"

"I did, mostly the first week. It got better this past week and now I hardly notice them. Thank Kami we've developed drugs with less severe withdrawal symptoms…" Bulma trail off before she shrugged again. "I don't need them anymore. I, well, I started taking them because I was having panic attacks and paranoia. But that's gone now. I guess it was just stress."

"And you believe you're ready to handle that same stress again?" Dr. Carle asked.

Bulma scowled a little. "Yes, I'm ready! I can't really explain it, but I know something is different."

"What brought about this change?"

How could she explain it? She dreamed she was raped by some psychopath and that made everything all better. Wouldn't that make her seem even crazier? She hesitated in answering. "I'm not sure. I think the break I had put things into perspective for me."

Their session lasted another half an hour before Dr. Carle stood up and held out her hand to shake. Bulma stood up as well, hastily shaking the outstretched hand and heading out of the office, ready to escape the other woman's scrutiny. She felt like she was an open book. What were all the notes the psychiatrist kept writing? Had she passed the test? Was she deemed able to return to work at Capsule Corporation? She moved faster until she was practically running out the door. She slid into the limousine and barked at the chauffer to take her back to headquarters, ignoring the rumbling in her stomach. She didn't care that it was lunchtime, all she wanted was to get back to work.

It was already after noon when the limousine pulled up in front of Capsule Corporation. Bulma didn't wait for the chauffer to open the door before she got out and walked briskly through the gate to the main entrance. The tall building blocked out the sun, and for the first time in two weeks she felt a shiver of fear thread down her spine. She walked faster, urging herself not to look around, assuring herself no one was there but her. Okay, so the paranoia wasn't completely gone yet. But it was waning, and that was what mattered.

Bulma took the elevator back to the floor where the conference room was, but no one was there. She snarled as she plopped down in her seat at the table and crossed her arms over her chest. No doubt the old bastards were out on lunch break. Who knew when they would return? Their breaks could last anywhere from thirty minutes to three hours. Deciding not to waste time sitting around, Bulma rose out of her chair and left the conference room, taking the elevator up to her office suite so she could at least figure out what was going on in the company and see what needed to be done. She was still expecting to find the company falling apart after two weeks without her guidance.

When she checked her email and browsed through company files, she was stunned to see the company was holding up rather well. Several projects had moved into the testing phase and more prototypes were being built from research that wasn't even concluded before she left. She was almost disappointed to see the company had gone on without her. Why was she working herself so hard if it didn't need her? Granted, she probably could have made even more happen had she been there, but the company wasn't falling behind its competition. It wasn't losing money and it wasn't losing its marketing edge. She breathed a deep sigh of relief, happy that she wouldn't have to pick the corporation up off the ground.

"Well fine," she muttered as she propped up her feet on the desk. She reached over and grabbed the phone, punching in the number to connect with the front desk. She waited a few rings before the receptionist answered.

"Yes, Ms. Brief?"

"When the board returns from their lunch break tell them I'm waiting in my office suite."

"Of course, Ms. Brief."

Bulma hung up the phone and spun around in her chair to look out the window. It felt like it had been so long since she had such a marvelous view of the city. She could see it teeming with life. Pedestrians filled the sidewalks and cars honked and sped through the streets. The air was thick with exhaust fumes and smoke from the factories, giving the appearance of fog hanging over the city. This was her kingdom. She was at the top again where she belonged, overlooking the world. Closing her eyes she smiled to herself. Yes, it was good to be at the top. This was why she worked so hard, to feel this power.

She hardly noticed what she was thinking, completely forgetting the lesson she thought she learned while she was at home. Bulma was startled out of her reverie when her cell phone started ringing. Pulling it out of her pocket, she grinned when she saw it was Yamcha calling. Without hesitation she flipped it open and answered.

"Hey, B," Yamcha said.

"Hi, Yam, what's up?"

"I was just thinking about you. Wondering how it went with the board."

Bulma groaned with exasperation as she told him, "They made me to go a doctor and a psychiatrist. When I got back to headquarters they had already gone on lunch break. Lazy old farts. I'm waiting for them to get back now. The doctor at least said he thinks I can get back to work. Not sure about the psychiatrist."

"I'm sure you'll be allowed to get back to work," Yamcha said, chuckling quietly.

She smiled again. "Yeah, I guess so. It's not like I said anything to make her think I was crazy or anything." There was a short pause. "So I was wondering if you'd be up for doing something tonight?"

"Aw, B, I'm sorry but I can't. The team's leaving West City this evening."

Bulma's smile slipped away. "Oh. I guess that makes sense. Your game's tomorrow afternoon, right?"

"Yeah. It starts 12:00 in our time zone."

"Well, I'll be rooting for you. Maybe I can catch part of the game during my lunch break."

"How 'bout I hit a grand slam for you?"

Bulma covered her mouth as she giggled. She felt like a schoolgirl with butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. "Doesn't that depend on your teammates?"

Yamcha scoffed. "Okay, well I'll hit you a grand slam if those lunk-heads manage to fill the bases."

"Aw, thanks Yam."

They talked for a few more minutes before they hung up. Bulma felt a boost in confidence after talking with him, so by the time the board came to her office she was ready for them. Not bothering to stand up, she leaned forward in her chair and folded her hands on her desk. She didn't care that there weren't enough seats for all of them in her office.

"Well, gentlemen, what's the verdict?"

Mr. Jobs approached her desk and held his out for her. "Welcome back, Ms. Brief. Both Dr. Black and Dr. Carle agree that you are ready to return to your position as president." Bulma shook his hand before he added, "But Dr. Carle advises you gradually resume your work. She told us you should be able to cope with the stress, but she believes it would be ideal for you to ease into it."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Ease into it? Then what, pray tell, am I supposed to do? How long do I have to wait before I have my full responsibilities back?"

The CFO cleared his throat. "First off, we believe it would be best if you leave the company's finances entirely in my care for the time being."

The heiress sneered at him before nodding. "Very well. Anything else I have to give up?" she asked snidely.

"We have considered finding an assistant for you, Ms. Brief. As a sort of temporary vice president." Mr. Jobs said.

"Where are you going to find a vice president?"

The CEO turned away from her as he replied, "Promote one of your department heads. Either that or hand over some of your duties to Mr. Keiei. He _is_ the COO, if you recall."

Bulma glanced over at the COO, the youngest man on the board. He never impressed her very much. Tall, skinny, with hazel eyes and dirty blonde hair, he was nothing much to look at. He rarely ever spoke up in board meetings and he seemed shy, which was not something she looked for in a board member. But it hadn't been her choice to give him his title. She sighed heavily when he smiled weakly under her appraisal. "That would be simpler than promoting anyone for a temporary position. Fine, I'll see what I can have him do."

"Very good, Ms. Brief," Mr. Jobs said. "Then we'll leave you to your business." He returned to the elevator accompanied by all the board members except the COO, who stayed behind to discuss with Bulma what he would be doing to assist her. Bulma snorted when the elevator door closed behind them. They looked like a flock of sheep following the leader around. She wondered if it really was a unanimous decision to kick her out for two weeks or if it had all been Mr. Jobs's idea. Either way, she was going to get them all back for what they did. They could have protested, could have stuck up for her. But none of them had the balls to do it. They deserved to lose their jobs.

On the bright side, she was officially President of Capsule Corporation again. She was both relieved and disappointed by it, wanting her power back but also wanting more free time to spend with her parents and boyfriend. But, in the end, she knew she wouldn't trust anyone else to run the company in her place. It may have survived without her for two weeks, but that didn't mean it could keep going without her cracking the whip. Most of the department heads were self-starters, but that didn't mean they didn't need the added motivation of the company president setting goals and deadlines for them. Capsule Corporation was more productive under her than it had ever been when her father was running the company. That was a fact she took pride in, and it was a standard she had to uphold. She was Bulma Brief, most powerful woman in the world. And damn did it feel good to be back.

…

"It surprises me how great your interest in that female is."

Vegeta's eyes shifted from his aqua-haired woman below to his father. His tail paused in its lashing and briefly wrapped around his waist. "Hn."

"I have received word of what you did with her," King Vegeta went on, "and I think it would be wise for you to keep your distance, boy. What is so fascinating about that _human_? You have never taken such interest in any of our own females."

Snorting, Vegeta shook his head and turned back to Bulma Brief. "I have yet to find one worthy of my attention." He leaned on the balcony rail, the same rail where he spent many hours in the arms of his mother when he was a boy. It was there that he first lay eyes on Bulma, and it was then that his obsession with her grew. The saiyans could always see the human world as if they weren't in a separate realm, but they had little to do with them most of the time. Occasionally a human would _call_ to a saiyan with his or her actions, dreaming and striving to become something greater, attain what only the right saiyan could give. Every saiyan had a human, but not every human had a saiyan.

"And what of your old goat?" Vegeta asked, barely trying to keep the mocking tone out of his question.

King Vegeta crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at his son. "He still holds power over his world." Then he, too, leaned against the rail, though he had to bend over much further to rest his elbows on it. "I am curious to see what you intend to do with her. World domination? Through her? She has no interest in politics."

"Political power is not necessarily the greatest power – at least not to humans," Vegeta explained. "Her power is purely economical and cultural, but I can make her greater than any politician. Even yours, Father."

For many long minutes the two royals stood there watching. Bulma was outside her home helping her mother with one of her many gardens. She had smudges of dirt on her face, sweat beading on her brow, and ugly, oversized work gloves on her hands, but she looked happy and relaxed. She was kneeling in the dirt pulling weeds when she suddenly turned and grinned, flashing her brilliant white teeth, and stood up. She waved as another human came into view: her boyfriend, Yamcha.

They had only met a few days earlier but already they were dating. It sickened and infuriated Vegeta when he saw that his woman, _his_ human could so easily forget her experience with him and become so attached to a human male. He was superior in every way, so how was it that she could look at that Yamcha idiot and see anything worth having? All he had was athleticism, and that he only had because of his saiyan. He was nothing, and yet Bulma had fallen in love with him so easily. Vegeta didn't want her love, but he demanded her loyalty. But now even that was faltering. Foolish, unpredictable human! Instead of securing his hold over her, she was now rebelling against him, willingly handing over her power, sharing it with others, wasting her time and her life with her _boyfriend_ or her parents instead of controlling humankind.

Vegeta's tail started lashing again, more violently now, as he growled deep in his chest. "What the hell is Tora doing letting that trash near my woman?" he hissed.

King Vegeta quirked an eyebrow. "You know saiyans cannot completely control their humans. They will do as they will with or without our interference. What does it matter to you who she fraternizes with?"

"She is mine," Vegeta snarled. His tail lashed more erratically as he watched Bulma leave with Yamcha. Bulma belonged to him. No other could touch her! At least, no other saiyan. His father was right, unfortunately. He nor any other saiyan could fully control a human. Yes, he could drive her crazy, keep her awake, give her nightmares, fill her with fear, and even touch her. To a degree he could bend the perception of those around her, open her eyes to new insight, and push her to change her interests. But _never_ could he truly control her.

"This, I'm afraid, is the reason why saiyans should not enter their realm," King Vegeta sighed. "You have become too attached to this one. Did you bond with her?"

"Did I _what_?" Vegeta roared, turning on his heel to face his father. "You must be insane!"

King Vegeta shrugged off his son's outburst. "It has happened before. You would do well to remember you can never _be_ with her."

Scoffing, Vegeta crossed his arms and stalked across the balcony to the door leading back into the royal palace. "I have no desire to be with her, Father, don't be a fool."

He could have reprimanded his eldest son for his disrespect, but really there was no point. King Vegeta shook his head as he stood and went back inside as well. Maybe it would be in his son's best interest to eliminate the female; his power over the humans was by no means absolute, but he had influence in the right places. His human _was_ the king of Earth, and even though the saiyan prince might believe his power had become obsolete, he was quite wrong.

Vegeta was still fuming by the time he reached his personal chambers. Bonded, indeed. He hadn't bonded with the human female. Even if he _had_ said… no, there was just no way. He was the Prince of all Saiyans! No saiyan female was worthy of him, let alone a human! And yet, his own words continued ringing through his mind. _You're bonded to the Prince of all Saiyans_. Had he meant it? Bonding was an intimate process and he hadn't been intimate with her. He raped her. He was merely showing her the nature of what she chose to become entangled with. Why had he done it? What was the point of revealing himself to her? It was rare for a saiyan to ever have reason to make himself known to his human. Rarer still to do anything so…physical. Had he lost his mind? _Had_ he bonded with her?

Of course not. Vegeta wasn't going to bond with anyone, especially not a human. How absurd. He sank down into his nest-like bed and flipped a blanket over himself. Taking naps wasn't his favorite pastime, but the easiest way to calm his mind was to go to sleep, which he promptly did.

At least, sleep had always helped calm him before. When he woke half an hour later he was trembling and coated in a layer of sweat, and there was no denying the arousal he felt. Growling at his own mind, he sat up and cast off the blanket. No, definitely no denying it. His body, at least, had enjoyed the dream he had of the woman, relishing the rush he got from her helplessness, her powerless protests, her weak body writhing under him. Shaking the lingering images from his mind, he got out of bed and stretched.

"This is ridiculous," he hissed. "I didn't bond with her. I don't care about her, I'm just using her." What he told himself was true, but that didn't mean he didn't feel _something_ for her. What he felt was possessiveness. He claimed her, and whether or not they were in other realms, whether or not he desired her, she was _his_. She was going to do what he wanted her to. He couldn't control her, exactly, but he was still going to use her as his tool. With her, he was going to rule both worlds. One day he was going to be king, and when he was, Bulma would rule the human world according to his will. Through her, he would rule them. None of his ancestors ever had such ambition; he came from a long line of saiyans endowed with power, able to give power to humans, but none had ever had interest in ruling the humans. Of course they were weak and pathetic, but they were amusing. More like dumb animals than a sentient race, there for his entertainment.

So what he had done was taboo. Yeah, he understood that, but it wasn't until now that he fully understood why. The obsession that had been growing since he first saw her years ago and felt her calling to him only worsened after he was with her physically. Now he couldn't get her off his mind; he wanted to see her and touch her again, he wanted to own her fully and steal her will from her, making her his willing and obedient slave.

He spent months stalking her like prey. Since she first called him when she was a young teenager he had been gifting her with the means to gain power, but it wasn't until recently that she was ready to fully give herself over to him. She had gotten a taste of power, but she wanted – craved – more, she was willing to do anything for absolute power. He, of course, was willing to oblige, but he had to make sure she wouldn't turn back. And so he spent months playing her and the people around her until he had her right where he wanted: powerless, broken, unstable, and vengeful. Once he had her there, she made the decision to give anything, everything, for power. Then, he figured, she was ready to see what she had really done, selling herself to him. But it hadn't worked. Actually, it backfired, and that enraged him. Stupid, lazy human, who the hell did she think she was? She was his, damn it! He worked hard to make her what she was and she was going to throw it all away? No way. He wouldn't allow it.

He didn't care if it was impossible, he was going to control her one way or another. He had invested far too much in her to let her get away now.

_A/N: I was sadly disappointed when I had not one review on this chapter by this morning... then I realized I forgot to post this chapter yesterday because I was busy frying curry bread before work instead of updating my story. Whoops. Anyway, in this chapter the story kind of decided to write itself, so I kind of have a new plot, or at least a subplot, so it'll be longer than I thought. On the bright side, it means more story for you and a fresh wave of inspiration for me. Ok, now review! :)_

_Beta'd by lilpumpkingirl_


	9. Chapter 8: Resistance

Chapter 8  
>Resistance<p>

Bulma stood up and pulled her ticket out of the pocket of her carry-on bag when she heard the announcement that her flight was boarding. She grinned to herself as she showed her ticket and started walking down the ramp to the airplane that would take her to East City. She should have been ashamed of herself, taking off five days of work just to go watch the Taitans play in the playoffs. She had been slacking in work since she started dating Yamcha; at first she resented being ordered to hand some of her workload over to others, but she soon got used to it and started shoving more of her duties onto other people and taking a step back from her habit of micromanaging every department.

She sank down into her seat in first class and kicked her carry-on under the seat in front of her as she buckled her safety belt. Thoughts of her business drifted through her mind before she put them to rest. Lately she had been perhaps _too_ relaxed at work, hardly pushing any of her department heads to expedite their research. She wasn't pushing for more government funding, and she sat back and idly watched as one of her top competitors created better weaponry prototypes to entice the military. Capsule Corporation wasn't losing money, but it wasn't gaining capital as quickly as it had before. Maybe she should have been worried that she was falling behind, that she was letting her company slip, but her concerns were fleeting as she was generally more focused on her relationship with Yamcha.

Her desire for power was overshadowed by her infatuation with Yamcha. He was everything good. Kind, compassionate, he gave her gifts, took her on lovely dates, told her she was beautiful…and she knew he didn't care about her for her money because he was filthy rich too. He didn't care about the attention their relationship brought them in the media because he was already chased by the paparazzi. And she didn't think he wanted her only because she was beautiful because honestly there were many beautiful girls who would have gladly given themselves to him if he wanted them. He was a perfect boyfriend; before she met him, she never would have believed it were possible to fall in love, but she did.

Bulma ignored the flight attendant as she explained safety procedures. She'd already heard it a thousand times before. With a yawn she leaned her head against the small window and closed her eyes, ready to take a nap after getting up so early that morning to leave. By the time the plane took off she was already asleep.

_She opened her eyes but couldn't see anything, not even her hand when she held it right in front of her face. Perplexing, but not enough to frighten her. She turned around in a circle, looking for some faint source of light but found nothing. Then, with a shrug, she started walking, cautiously placing one foot in front of the other lest she stumble over some unseen obstacle. Despite her caution, though, she tripped over something and fell to her knees._

_ 'What was that?' she wondered. Suddenly, she was blinded by a brilliant light. Squinting, she looked up and found herself kneeling before the silhouette of a figure she hadn't seen for weeks: Vegeta. She gasped and flung herself backwards, scrambling to get away from him. His face was engulfed in shadows, but she could see the whites of his eyes and his sharp teeth bared in a ferocious snarl._

_ "You!" she hissed. "Get away from me! I don't want to ever see you again!"_

_ He lowered himself to one knee, so close to her she could feel his warm breath fanning across her cheek. The putrid smell of death and decay surrounded her as he leaned closer until his lips were almost touching hers. Then she felt his fingers lifting her chin to look him in the eye. "Unfortunately for you, you're going to be seeing me again very soon. You've been a disobedient little bitch."_

_ Her heart started racing when she felt his fingers slide down her neck before wrapping around her throat and squeezing gently. She knew he had the strength enough in one hand to snap her neck if he so pleased. She swallowed hard and shook her head slowly. "Disobedient?" she spat, "I don't belong to you! Even if I did – and I don't – you haven't given me any orders. I wouldn't listen anyway, you disgusting freak."_

_ "Bold words for such a weak woman," he purred. Well, maybe it was purr. It sounded like a cross between a purr and a growl, but she chose to focus on the friendlier interpretation even if it was patronizing._

_ "I'm _not _weak."_

_ She heard him snort before she suddenly found herself pinned underneath him. A shiver ran through her body from the cold ground and a thrill of fear coursed through her. Was he going to – would he do it again? She couldn't let him get away with it this time. Putting every ounce of strength she could muster into it, she kicked him hard in the groin. But her leg moved through thin air and she was in total darkness again._

_ Where had he gone?_

Bulma jerked awake in a cold sweat. She hardly noticed her body trembling as she shook her head to rid her mind of the haunting images of the saiyan. Of course it hadn't been real; it was nothing more than a dream – or rather a nightmare. She was relieved to find upon looking around that no one had noticed her peculiar behavior. Sighing, she leaned her head against the small window and closed her eyes, only to open them again when another image of Vegeta flashed through her mind. He was in a shadow in the dark, he was always surrounded by darkness. Was that where he dwelled? In the shadows? He said otherwise in their first meeting, but she was sure he was a demon. There was no other explanation. He wasn't real; at least, he wasn't a physical entity. So there was no way he could really hurt her – physically. Mentally he could tear her apart, so she would just have to guard herself against him and she would be fine.

She was still nodding to herself when the voice of the pilot startled her. The plane would be landing in twenty minutes and passengers were no longer permitted to leave their seats. She suddenly realized how badly she needed to use the lavatory, but there wasn't time for her to do it now. Biting her bottom lip, she squeezed her legs together and started the long wait until touchdown. Then the plane would likely taxi for a few minutes before _finally_ reaching the gate… she sighed again. This trip was turning out to be a terrible idea.

As soon as Bulma was in a cab she pulled out her cell phone and called Yamcha. She was eager to talk to him and even more excited to see him. They wouldn't get a chance to spend much time together until after the game that evening, but at least they could have a nice chat. The phone only rang twice before he answered.

"Hey, Bulma!"

"Yamcha! I just got in to East City. You busy?"

"Not really. I got a little down time before the game. You on your way to the stadium now?"

"I'm going to stop at the hotel first, but I'm coming right after I've checked in."

"Great! Then I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Sounds good. I'll let you know when I'm there."

"Okay. Love you, babe."

"Love you, too." She smiled as she hung up, then giggled a little as she pulled her makeup out of her purse to primp during the ride to the hotel. It was only a fifteen minute drive, but it felt like forever. If she hadn't brought a suitcase as well as her carry-on she probably would have waited until after the game to check in to her room.

It didn't take her long to get the key to her room and ride the elevator to the top floor. So her room was actually the penthouse suite, complete with a bedroom, kitchenette and dining room, luxurious bathroom, balcony overlooking a beautiful view of the city, and a plush living room. The best of the best, as always. Bulma dropped her carry-on bag down by the door and rested her hands on her hips as she looked around, satisfied with her temporary living arrangements. And yet… she couldn't help but feel anxious as she surveyed the rooms. As if there was someone already there. She rubbed her temples and shook her head. No, there was no way she was going to start that again. She was just a little jumpy because of the dream she had.

"No one is here," she announced to the empty suite. Her voice echoed, putting her more on edge. It gave the suite a sort of eerie feeling. Ignoring her shaking hands, she resituated her purse on her shoulder and stepped out the room. It was time to go see her boyfriend. By the time the elevator reached the main floor she was sporting a beaming smile and had a lively, carefree bounce to her steps once again.

Her cab was still waiting when she walked out of the hotel. She got into the back seat and directed the driver to the baseball stadium. Though she was looking forward to the actual game, she was by far more thrilled to be seeing Yamcha. It had only been three days since he had last been in West City, but it felt like three months to her. All she wanted was to spend every minute of every day with him, but of course her work at Capsule Corporation took up much of her time, and when she was free he was often out of town for games, busy training, or playing a game. To her credit, she didn't attend _every_ one of his home games, but that was only when she had a conflict she absolutely couldn't weasel her way of.

For a while she had been worried that the board members would see her slack attitude and think twice about letting her take the reins again, but to her surprise they seemed almost relieved that she was relaxing her domineering personality. The COO was still in charge of many of her former duties, such as leading many of the meetings with the department heads and issuing deadlines for production. The CFO, meanwhile, was still working on most of the company's finances, mostly in the area of department budgets. Bulma hadn't been in the media spotlight as much recently; at least, not as the president of Capsule Corporation, but as the successful businesswoman dating a famous baseball player. At first having her personal life displayed across the front pages of major newspapers and magazines was aggravating, but soon she became accustomed to it and even welcomed it. Why _shouldn't_ she let the world see her happiness?

Who needed power when she could be happy without it? She still was not sure if Vegeta was real or not, but it didn't matter because he was wrong. She had _not_ sold myself for power and there was no way she was going to now that she knew how detrimental to her health it was. Always striving for some unattainable goal; what good did that do anyone? Bulma had pushed herself to her limits and beyond and she nearly lost everything because of it. While she wouldn't be happy to be ousted from her position at Capsule Corp, she certainly wasn't going to kill herself to achieve more than was humanly possible again. No way. She had more important things to worry about, like dating Yamcha, spending quality time with her parents, and having some time to herself when she didn't have to worry about the company, money, or prestige. Power was a wonderful thing, but she realized something important since she started dating Yamcha: power in itself is useless; power is merely a means to an end, and since she didn't have any particular end in mind, she had little use for the absolute power she once sought.

It wasn't a long drive to the baseball stadium. Bulma's cab dropped her off near the main entrance so she didn't have far to walk to get inside. There were already hordes of baseball fans making their way into the stadium even though the game didn't start for another two hours. Bulma normally wouldn't come quite so early, but she wanted the chance to see Yamcha before warm-ups. As she pushed and shoved her way through the crowd, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed Yamcha's number.

"Hey, B! You make it to the stadium?"

"Yeah," she yelled over the noise of the crowd, "I'm here. Where can I meet you?"

"Go on in to your seat. I'll come out to meet you, okay?"

"Okay. See you in a couple minutes," Bulma said before hanging up. She stuffed her phone in her pocket and tightened her grip on her purse as she continued on through the masses. Fortunately she was going with the flow or she might never have made it to her destination in good time. Yamcha was already waiting for her when she got to the first row by the Taitans' dugout.

"There you are!" Yamcha said as he stood up and opened his arms wide for a hug. He grinned, showing his perfect white teeth.

Bulma ran into his arms and hugged him tight, as if they had been reunited after spending months or years apart. "Hey, you. Sorry it took me so long to get here. My flight was delayed."

"Not your fault, babe." Yamcha lifted her chin and kissed her softly. "I'm just glad you could make it. I know you've been busy with work."

Bulma shrugged as she sat down, pulling him down into the seat next to her. "It's no big deal. The company will live without me for a few days. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Yamcha grinned again, reaching over to squeeze her hand affectionately. "It means a lot to have you here rooting for me."

"Like I said, I wouldn't miss it for the world." She leaned over and pecked his cheek. "You're more important to me than getting research proposals approved. They can wait. The playoffs are only once a year, and I don't wait a whole year to see you play in the postseason."

"Are you sure you're the same girl I first met?" he joked. "You were obsessed with your work."

"Things change." During the brief lull in their conversation she could almost hear something that sounded like a growl, but she assured herself she was only imagining it. There honestly wasn't much more for them to talk about; it had only been two days since they had spent time together, not long enough for much to happen that they would want to tell each other. Besides, even when they were apart they called each other every night. But, rather than being bored with the lack of things to say, Bulma felt comfortable sitting in silence with Yamcha. They didn't have much to say because they already knew each other, already shared many stories, and they understood each other well enough to communicate without words.

When the time for the game drew closer, Yamcha stood up and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Guess I'd better be going."

Bulma nodded and giggled when he bent over and kissed her forehead. "Hit me a grand slam, okay?" Since the first time he promised to hit her one, she never failed to ask for a repeat. He couldn't always deliver because his teammates didn't always have the bases filled when it was his turn to bat, but every time they were he made sure he got a home run just for her. She knew he would have hit them anyway, but she liked knowing he was thinking about her every time he did.

"You bet."

After he left Bulma noticed the roar of the crowd for the first time. She had been so entranced with Yamcha that she was completely unaware of the hundreds of people around her, all talking, cheering, yelling, and bickering. Some of them were already drunk while others were unlikely to be sober much longer. The odors of hot dogs, beer, and popcorn mingled with the stench of sweat, but it was the familiar scent of a ballpark that Bulma had come to enjoy. She could feel the excitement of the crowd, see the tension in their bodies as they eagerly awaited the first pitch, and hear the fights between fans of the opposing teams. Everyone was more than ready for the game, and though she was alone – neither having friends nor family to sit with – she didn't feel lonely; at a baseball game, she was another fan, another part of a larger body, and she always felt welcomed and included in a part of culture she never took interest in before Yamcha.

Her adrenaline was pumping through the entire game and her voice was hoarse by the end of the third inning, but she kept cheering and screaming through the entire game anyway. Yamcha didn't get a grand slam, but he did get two homeruns – one of which was three runs batted in – and he almost single-handedly led his team to victory. Of course it was only the first game of the series, but judging by the seeming ease with which the Taitans won, there was no doubt who would be the champion for yet another season. The Taitans had won the Global Series for the past five years in a row. And it was all thanks to their star player, Yamcha, who had been accused countless times of using steroids or cheating, but no such claim was ever verified. He really was just that talented.

After the game, Yamcha invited Bulma along to celebrate with some of his teammates, but she declined. As much as she wanted to be with him, she wanted him to have time with his buddies, and besides, she was tired. Her previous adrenaline rush had her crashing and she was suffering jet lag anyway. They parted ways, with Yamcha still being swamped with requests for pictures and autographs and Bulma forcing her way through the crowd to escape before the traffic got too bad. Cabs were waiting outside the stadium already, so Bulma called one and got in, giving directions back to her hotel, and waited to arrive. She was so tired she almost nodded off more than once during the ride, but she managed to stay awake. Once she reached the hotel, she paid the taxi driver and tipped generously, then went inside and took the elevator up to her suite.

Tiredly she unlocked the door and went inside, swaying on her feet as she walked, hardly able to keep her balance as fatigue set in. Yet even through the sleepy haze in her mind she could tell something was off as soon as the closed behind her. The eerie feeling she had gotten earlier had doubled, and though there were still no signs of anyone else being in the suite with her, she couldn't help checking every little niche and constantly glancing over her shoulder. She shook her head, determined not to be a victim of paranoia again, but she couldn't convince herself to calm down. Each passing moment put her more on edge until she was so tightly wound she was sure she might have had a heart attack if she were startled.

Taking a deep breath she asked quietly, timidly, "Is somebody there?"

There were a few long seconds of silence before she heard something behind her. Before she turned, the temperature of the room plummeted and the room seemed to change. She couldn't quite place the change, but thought maybe it was like looking at everything through a glass pane, as if she weren't really there but looking into her surroundings from another place. Finally, she squeezed her eyes shut and spun around, knowing she didn't want to see whatever it was that was behind her. Or whoever.

And yet when she opened her eyes, she wasn't surprised to see him. "Vegeta."

He looked the same as before; he was wearing the same clothes, his hair was still a tall black flame, and his eyes were as deep and haunting as ever. Bulma knew she should have been trembling in fear at the sight of him, but a part of her mind refused to believe what she was seeing was real. He was merely a hallucination, a wild figment of her imagination, a dreamt-up demon to stalk her in the night. He crossed his arms over his chest and stepped closer to her. She couldn't deny being able to smell him and feel the heat radiating from his muscular body. The air itself trembled around him, making every one of his movements more frightening and powerful.

"Foolish woman," he muttered, not exactly addressing her. He leaned closer and she saw his nostrils flare as he sniffed her. With a sneer he stepped back and snorted, apparently not liking whatever it was he smelled on her. "You disgust me."

Bulma coughed. "What did you say?"

"You _disgust_ me," he repeated, adding extra emphasis this time for clarity. "You are no better than a common whore." Lip curled in contempt, he circled around her. To her credit, Bulma stood still and endured his scrutiny silently. Instead of making a snide retort, she used her opportunity to appraise him as he did her. He really wasn't much taller than her, but his body was nothing but lean muscle. No part of him was bulky, but she knew he was incredibly strong. His tight-fitting clothes showed his muscles rippling with each step he took, reminding her of a tiger or lion. Graceful, fluid movements fueled by lethal power. The one thing she noticed this time that she hadn't before was the strange furry belt around his waist – a belt that she soon figured out was actually a tail – which further led her to believe he wasn't human (or real).

"And how am I like a whore?" she finally asked.

He stopped in front of her and she felt his eyes boring into her very soul. "You sold yourself to _me_, woman, and even after I claimed you, you _still_ share affection with that pitiful human male."

Her hands balled into fists. "You mean Yamcha? He's not pitiful, and I'm not yours!"

"You do not fear me this time," he commented. His brows furrowed, but she couldn't read his expression. Was he frustrated? Disappointed? She shifted uneasily.

"No. You're not real. I'm not scared of things that aren't real." She crossed her arms and lifted her chin proudly. "I don't really know what you are, but you can't hurt me. You can make me _think_ you can, but it's not real. None of it is real."

"You really believe that?" he prodded as he again leaned into her personal space. She felt his breath on her neck and shivered despite herself. She gasped when she suddenly felt his hands wrapped around her neck. "I could kill you in an instant, you worthless wench. Or I could destroy your life, kill everyone you love, take away everything I've ever given you."

"You can't!"

He gave her a smile she knew was forced. Rather than putting her at ease, it made her skin crawl. "I don't _want_ to hurt you, little woman." He slid one hand up the back of her neck and tangled his fingers in her long hair, then jerked her head back painfully. "You're much more useful to me when you're well. But don't think for an instant that I would hesitate to harm you if I believed it would benefit me."

"You're sick, you know that?" she spat. "Now let go of me!"

"Let go of you?" He chuckled as he backed her up against the wall behind her, pressing his body against hers. His hand dropped from her neck and moved down her chest and stomach. She felt goose bumps raise on her flesh when she felt it, fearing what he would do next. "Ah, so _now_ you fear me."

"I'm not some – some _thing_ you can just use for your enjoyment!" she shrieked. "Get away from me this instant or I'll – I'll call security!"

He laughed outright when he heard her pathetic threat. "Call security? And what do you think they could do to me? They couldn't even see me, woman. Aren't you the one who said I'm not real? Have you changed your mind?"

"Stop fucking with my head." Bulma turned her head so she wouldn't have to see his obsidian eyes burning with amusement and cruelty. He was a sadist for sure. "No, you're not real, and nothing you do to me is real."

"You don't believe that." He slipped his hand into her pants and worked his fingers down until he heard her soft groan. "Everything I do to you is as real as it feels."

"Don't…" she whispered.

He used his free hand to lift her chin and force her to meet his gaze. "You can either choose pain or pleasure." He pushed one finger into her and smirked when she exhaled a deep, shaky breath. "I am power. You can have me and everything I give you; pleasure."

She said nothing as she shook her head. She was too engrossed in trying to ignore the excited burning between her legs to pay much attention to what he said.

"Or," he said, stopping his ministrations, "you could choose to give it all up. Relinquish all that I have bestowed unto you, choose a life of mundane frivolity. Live with the pain of knowing what you could have had yet willingly refused." He dropped his hand from her chin and again wrapped his fingers around her neck, this time squeezing until she could hardly breathe.

"No," she choked out.

His grip loosened. "No?"

Using both hands she managed to pry his hand from her neck, though it was only because he allowed it. "No, I don't care what you say. I have not and _will not_ give myself to you. Whether you're real or imagined, it doesn't matter, I'm not yours! I have what I have because of _my_ hard work, not because of anything you've done. And you even have the nerve to reprimand me for dating Yamcha! As if I would choose the likes of you over him! You're insane." By the time she finished her tirade she was absolutely fuming. She poked him in the chest as she continued, "Even if you were the one who gave me all that I have, you can take it back if it means I have to – to what? Become your slave? I belong to no one, least of all _you_! Take it and leave me the hell alone because I don't want it! I don't need it!"

Growling, he grabbed her wrist so tightly she was afraid he was going to break her bones. She winced in pain but held back from crying out. Now, rather than amusement, she could see raw fury burning in his eyes. The air hummed around him, coming to life with his energy crackling around his body. "You are more foolish than I thought, wench." He pulled his other hand out of her pants and backhanded her, knocking her to the floor. He stepped over her and looked down on her without pity or remorse. "Do you even understand what it means to lose your power?"

Bulma blinked back the tears in her eyes and sat up, rubbing her cheek. It was already swollen and she had no doubt there would be a nasty bruise later. She jumped back when something nearly struck her again. When she looked up, she saw that it was his tail slashing through the air erratically. His whole body was tensed, his hands clenched into fists. Maybe she hadn't been scared before, but now she was terrified. He looked ready to explode. It may have been her imagination, but she swore she could see sparks around him as he fought to control himself.

When she looked at his eyes, she was startled to see they were no longer the inky black she hated; no, they were all white, as if his pupils had completely disappeared in his rage. She pushed herself farther away from him, trying to put as much distance between them as she could without drawing his attention.

"You…" his voice was strained as he tried to speak rationally, "You would choose mediocrity?"

Bulma nodded slowly, no longer certain of her decision. "Yes. If you really did give me my power, take it and give it to someone else. I don't want it anymore. I'd be happy without it." Especially if it meant never having to see him again.

Suddenly his body relaxed and she was again staring into the endless black void of his eyes. "Very well," he said with a shrug, "I can't _force_ you to accept my gift." His furious expression faded to stoicism as he looked her over one last time. "But you will regret your decision, wench. You will come crawling back to me, begging for a second chance."

"I doubt that."

He sneered at her as he turned away, wrapping his tail loosely around his waist. "And when you do," he continued as if she hadn't interrupted, "I _may_ be willing to have mercy on you. But only if you are willing to give yourself to me. Mind, body, soul. You will be _mine_, and no one, human or saiyan, but me will ever touch you again."

Before she could contradict him, he disappeared. It wasn't a flashy exit with a blinding light, a puff of smoke, or even a loud crack as she might have expected. When she was sure he was gone she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before getting to her feet. Her heart was pounding in her chest but she hardly noticed as she shuffled to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed, too tired to even worry about changing into pajamas. She needed to sleep and forget, fill her mind with pleasant dreams rather than horrific memories of being raped, threatened, and beaten.

_A/N: Ugh, I really haven't had time to write much lately, and now I have another idea for a completely new story that really wants to be written. I'm trying to restrain myself, but I don't know if I'll be able to for long. It's another dark fic and I'm pretty excited about it. Anyway, the next chapter of this story has been written and it's a bit different... so look forward to seeing that in a week. I guess that's about all I have to say. Review, please!_

_Beta'd by lilpumpkingirl_


	10. Chapter 9: Powerless

Chapter 9  
>Powerless<p>

Bulma woke up when her alarm clock blared its good morning. Groaning, she reached her hand out from under her blanket and shut it off only to roll over and try catching a few more minutes of blissful sleep. But she couldn't sleep any longer; it wasn't that she was feeling lively and awake, but she knew she had to get up and get ready for work. She couldn't afford to be late again. With a deep sigh she threw off her covers and sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of her bed. Giving her alarm clock one final glare, she stood up and shuffled to her bathroom for a hot shower. Really that was the only part of the morning she could thoroughly enjoy.

But, as with everything she enjoyed, she couldn't delight in it for too long. The water only stayed hot for a few minutes before quickly going from lukewarm to frigid. She barely had time to get herself clean before she was shivering and stepping out of the shower, wrapping a warm towel around her body. "Stupid water heater," she muttered bitterly as she started drying her hair.

She looked at herself in the mirror as she combed her hair, promising herself as she did many times that she would cut it short so it wouldn't be such a bother. She couldn't keep spending so much time every morning on hair maintenance. 'Oh well. Maybe next week when I have time off.' Bulma finished by tying her hair back in a bun and brushing her teeth. That done, she went back to her bedroom and opened her closet door to find clothes to wear. It wasn't a hard decision since she didn't have much choice in the matter. With another sigh she pulled a powder blue knee-length dress with a stiff white collar out and tossed it on her bed as she went to her dresser to get her underclothes.

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, dimly lighting her room. She stopped in front of her window and looked out at the city. It looked cold and gray, but she knew outside it was blistering hot already. If not hot, it was definitely humid; summer mornings were always miserable, especially for her hair – another reason to get it cut short. Pushing her thoughts about the weather aside, she finished dressing, frowning at the wrinkles in her dress, and walked out of her bedroom. She turned left down the short hall to the kitchen and flicked the light on.

Dirty dishes were stacked by the sink. She had been too tired the night before to wash them. 'I'll get to it later,' she vowed. Her stomach rumbled impatiently as she pulled a bowl out of the cupboard and filled it with cereal. When she opened the refrigerator to get the milk out, she groaned when she saw that she was out of milk. 'Of course.'

With a half-hearted shrug she grabbed the carton of orange juice instead and upended its contents on her cereal. Not her favorite breakfast, but it would have to do. She sat down at the table and hastily ate her cereal, hardly taking the time to even taste it – not that she wanted to. As soon as she was finished she tossed the bowl on the stack of dishes by the sink and hurried to the front door, only taking the time to slip on her white sneakers and grab her purse before going outside.

As expected, it was hot, and she had to walk twenty-one blocks. "Wish I could take a taxi," she sighed wistfully. It was a passing thought she entertained nearly every morning, but she knew she couldn't take a taxi every day. And taking a bus was out of the question; none of them would take her to her destination at this time of day. Locking the door behind her, she started down her front walk to the street and turned right. She checked her watch and felt a rush of panic flood through her when she saw how late it had gotten.

"Shit. I got to hurry." Raising her eyes to the heavens, silently imploring why she was always running late, she increased her speed to a light jog.

She went three blocks before turning left down another street. She hopped from one foot to the other as she mentally begged the light to change so she could cross without getting run over. After what must have been ten minutes (it was only two) the light changed and the "Don't Walk" light changed to "Walk." Bulma took a deep breath and ran across the street, no longer interested in conserving energy. She had to get to work on time; she had already been late two times that week. 'Strike three and I'm out.'

The baseball analogy brought a faint recollection of another life she lived. At least, it was a life she _might_ have lived if she hadn't been so headstrong in all the wrong ways. Maybe she could have dated a famous baseball player – maybe Yamcha! She didn't care much about baseball, honestly, but she could put up with marrying a rich athlete like him. And he wasn't too bad looking either. She shook her head, determined to quit her daydreaming. There was no sense wishing for something she could never have.

Well, she couldn't have it if she kept going down the road she chose three years ago. For so long she always wanted to follow in her father's footsteps, invent things and work at Capsule Corporation, maybe even take over as president someday. But she doubted that would ever happen now. No, her parents were far too disappointed in her to ever accept her again. Hell, they practically kicked her out of their home when she told them she didn't want to be the president of Capsule Corporation someday. They were so disappointed… But damn it, didn't she have the right to choose her own life? So maybe she was throwing away something her father worked all his life to achieve, what of it? Why couldn't she work something _her_ whole life to achieve on her own, not on daddy's coattails?

'I could have been rich and famous.' She snorted and rolled her eyes as she came to a stop at another intersection. 'I could have been like a celebrity.' Another thought she refused to dwell on. She went across the street when the light changed and went two more blocks before waiting to cross the street to her right. Inside, she felt like she had known fame once. Only as Dr. Brief's daughter, though, a child prodigy. But she fell out of the public eye when she said no to Capsule Corporation. It was almost like being the heir to a throne; saying "no" just didn't work. She got what she wanted, anyway. She was making her own life, albeit a terrible life. Making it from one day to the next was a challenge, and sometimes she was afraid she wasn't up to it. Back when she was still _the_ Bulma Brief she had not a care in the world. Enough money, loving parents, a comfortable home, servant bots, the outlook of a steady and prosperous job, the admiration of men… now she had, well, nothing. Except maybe the perverted leers of creepy men.

She went seven more blocks before she finally reached her workplace: a dumpy old diner in the slums of West City. The few patrons were regulars; she hardly saw anyone who didn't come at least every other day. Most of them were older people, retired old factory workers or former stay-at-home moms. They kept to themselves for the most part, quietly sitting in the booths with a lit cigarette slowly smoldering into ash without them hardly taking a drag. Bulma didn't mind the clientele, but she hated the management. Well, really, the owner of the joint.

Mr. Zimbardo was a portly man, short and balding. His brow was always sweaty, his sideburns always greasy, and she was sure he only owned one shirt because it always looked dirty and wrinkled. His shoes squeaked when he walked and his thumbs were always hooked on his belt, which counteracted its pathetic attempts to hold up his pants. Physically unappealing, his attitude was even worse. His staff was small; aside from Bulma there were only four other waitresses, two cooks, and a busboy who was likely too young to have a job (but no one dared mention it). Bulma doubted he could keep many people working for him if he treated anyone else as poorly as he did her. Maybe he resented the fact that she was more educated than him. Maybe he was just a misogynic old bastard who took pleasure it treating women like dirt. Either way, he was constantly breathing down her neck, waiting for her to make a mistake so he could viciously call her out on it, and he was coming up with some new excuse to dock her pay almost every week.

As soon as she walked in the door she heard his gravelly voice bellow her name. "You're late again, Miss Brief!"

She scowled at the patronizing way he said her name and shot back, "Sorry, your highness, I got held up by traffic."

"An attitude like that'll get you fired," he warned her for what must have been the millionth time. Bulma just rolled her eyes at his empty threat as she went to the sink to wash her hands and put on an apron that was hopefully not _too_ soiled from the previous day. Once she was ready she grabbed a pen and notepad and went to her first table to take the order of an old man who always wore a trench coat and grimy fedora and carried a black umbrella. She figured he was at least always prepared for inclement weather.

"Good morning, Mr. Brady," she said as cheerfully as she could when she stopped at his table. He looked up at her and grinned, giving her a show of his lack of teeth. At first it had disgusted her, but over the months working there she learned to see the smile in his old, gray eyes that lit up with his happiness. "What'll you have today?"

"Oh, I suppose the usual." He shrugged a little and grinned again.

She smiled back and wrote down the same order as she did every single day. There was really no point in asking what he wanted, but she was sure if she ever put his order in without asking the old jokester would say he wanted something else instead. "Alright, I'll be back with some coffee in a minute."

Her morning passed much as it always did, waiting tables, bearing the insults thrown at her by Mr. Zimbardo along with the occasional lewd comment, and sharing the latest gossip with the other waitress on duty, Margie. She was an old woman with a slightly hunched back, her hair always in a wild perm dyed blue, and hot pink lipstick staining her thin lips and often her front teeth. She had worked at the diner for nearly thirty years, about as long as it was open, and had seen it change owners seven times. Somehow she stuck with the place though she constantly spoke of wanting a better life. Someday… she always dreamed of someday…

There were days Bulma could hardly stand to listen to Margie listing her regrets. So many of them sounded like her own mistakes it made her feel depressed and hopeless. What had she done? Now, at the age of twenty-five, she could have been a researcher or maybe even vice president of Capsule Corporation. She might have finished her doctorate in computer engineering, maybe even found a job somewhere else using her skills. Just because she didn't want to take over the family company didn't mean she had to start at the bottom of the ladder, did it? What the hell was she doing working at a diner that would be better suited for demolition than food service?

All because she didn't care for the power her inheritance could bring her. She didn't want any of that. She didn't want to deal with politicians, begging for government funding, she didn't want to direct other people, guiding the department heads in their projects, and she didn't want to answer to the board of trustees. She was an independent woman, and while she enjoyed tinkering around in a laboratory inventing some new whatchamacallit, she didn't want to do it under her father's wing. She wanted to go out into the world and be her own person, find her special niche on her own. She had thrown everything she could have had away on a whim, and now she only lived to regret her decision.

What a fool she had been! But it was far too late to change the course of her life. Bulma Brief, no matter how brilliant or how many degrees she had, was disgraced and unwanted by the scientific community.

"Bulma, dear, is something the matter?" Margie asked. They were in the back alley running behind the diner on their lunch break. Margie was sitting in the only chair – a plastic lawn chair – and Bulma was leaning against the wall.

Bulma looked over at the older woman and shook her head sadly. "Nope, I'm fine." She sighed before taking a long drag of her cigarette. "Everything's peachy."

Sometimes she thought she had reached her breaking point. There was no way she could go on living like this. She could go back to her home at Capsule Corporation, get down on her hands and knees, and beg for her parents to forgive her idiocy and take her back under their wings. They were kind, compassionate people, how could they turn away from their own daughter? Really it had been her choice to leave home. They hadn't _actually_ thrown her out…she sometimes liked to replay her memory of the day she left and make herself believe they had been pushing her out the door, but really they hadn't. No, they definitely expressed their disappointment, their desire for her to follow the path they chose for her, all that. But they hadn't _thrown_ her out. It was more her guilt that made her walk out and never turn back.

'I'm such an idiot.' She berated herself all the time now, something she never would have done before she walked out. There had been no reason. Maybe she had been egotistical, even narcissistic, but she thought she was perfect and never made any mistake worth regretting. Oh, how things had changed since then.

"Honey, you can tell me what's on your mind."

Bulma smiled a little and shrugged. "It's nothing big. I just miss home, I guess."

Missed home, missed her life, the what-could-have-been's. Loved by all, raised on a pedestal for the world to worship. She imagined herself sitting at the desk in her father's office suite, feet kicked up on it while the board members trembled before her. The mental image seemed so real, as if she were seeing something that had really happened sometime in the past. But that wasn't possible. She had never held any power there, even though she was Dr. Brief's daughter, the heir to the corporate empire.

Still, whether it was real or not, she got a good feeling from it. She was a brilliant woman who could take Capsule Corporation to new heights, guide it in any direction she chose without her father's help! But she hadn't wanted to. At least, not before anyway… Now she wasn't so sure about that. Now the power sounded wonderful. It was tantalizing, but it was out of reach. It would always be out of reach. She was the prodigal daughter, the disappointment, the rebellious child. No one would ever take her seriously even if her parents did welcome her back home.

When her lunch break was over, Bulma went back inside and resumed the task of waiting tables, clearing them off when patrons were done eating and cleaning and setting them for the next dejected soul to trudge through the door. She was tired and her feet ached by the end of her shift, but she couldn't take another break or slow down. Mr. Zimbardo was still watching, always anticipating a bout of laziness he could use as an excuse to cut her pay. He was merciless, and she had definitely seen him taking her tips from time to time, but there was nothing she could say about it. In this world, this pathetic, dingy world, he had the power.

And she had none. Bulma Brief was powerless.

During the long walk home she allowed her mind to wander, flitting from one thing to the next, never lingering on any memory too long as they became too painful. Sometimes an image or a phrase would flash through her mind like the broken memory of a dream, but they were few and far between. If anything she hated them the most because they made her think about what she could have had if she had made better choices in her life.

Bulma was thrown back into reality when a big man bumped into her, nearly knocking her over. "Hey, watch it!" she yelled, "Do you know who I am?"

The man looked her up and down once before scoffing. "Do you think I _care_, lady?"

She balled her small hands into fists and stamped her foot, her name on the tip of her tongue and ready to shoot at him. But he had already turned and continued on, completely ignoring her. She felt tears forming in her eyes but forced them back, taking in a deep breath and holding it a few seconds before releasing. No use getting worked up over something like that. He didn't know who she was and didn't care. Just like everyone else in the world. Even if she _were_ to tell him her name, what difference would it make? According to the world she might as well have never existed. So what if she was beautiful and intelligent? Since choosing not to do anything with her gifts she made herself into another nobody, just a woman on the street equal with everyone else – or lower. She turned and continued walking toward her trashy apartment, shoulders sagging and head hanging.

'I hate my life.' She felt tears rising again and had to brush them away with the back of her hand. 'No, can't think like that.' To keep her mind occupied instead of letting it lead her into self-pity and despair, she started counting her steps, always careful to avoid the cracks in the sidewalk. She didn't know why, but she hated stepping on the cracks. Always had.

_'You would choose mediocrity?' _The question came unbidden, and she couldn't shake it from her head no matter how hard she tried. Mediocre. How else could she describe … everything? She was born for greatness, but here she was living a lonely life in a downtrodden apartment working a minimum-wage job that hardly paid the bills. She didn't have time to make friends, and even if she did she didn't have time to maintain relationships; despite being beautiful and charming she was still single and she figured she always would be. She'd be an old maid like Margie, smoking cigarettes until her lungs filled with tar and she could finally die. No one would remember her, no one would mourn her passing. Wasn't that the ultimate mark of a mediocre, meaningless, terrible life? No one was there to love her, no one was there to care if she lived or died. She made no impact in the grand scheme of things, and the lives she touched were little better than hers, if not worse. Who, other than her, would ever notice if Mr. Brady no longer came to the diner every day? If he no longer wandered the streets wearing his fedora and swinging his umbrella at his side? Was that what she was like? Ignored, forgotten, unseen?

As she neared home she was better able to rein in her negative thoughts. Her excitement grew as her hands itched to resume work on a few of her little pet projects; though she no longer had the limitless resources of Capsule Corporation at her disposal, she managed to purchase a few small devices and tools that she could disassemble and turn into something new and useful. Well, they had the potential to be useful if she could ever finish them. The problem was finding the parts to complete the projects and saving enough time and energy to actually work on them. But today had been particularly horrible and all she wanted was to lose herself in one of her brilliant inventions. When she was a block away from home she could no longer contain her eagerness and started running.

She nearly tripped over her feet when she came to a stop at the front step of her duplex, suddenly having a sense of foreboding when she saw it. The front door was ajar and the lock looked like it had been broken. Swallowing, she slowly pushed the door open and peeked inside, hoping that if there had been an intruder, no one was still there. "Hello?" she called.

There was no answer, so she pushed the door open the rest of the way with her shoulder as she stepped inside. She flipped the light switch and groaned with the pale fluorescent light illuminated the ruins of her home. From her standpoint it appeared the whole place had been ransacked. "No," she squeaked, "no, no, no! This can't be happening!"

Casting aside her earlier caution, she ran to her bedroom where she worked on her inventions, praying to whatever deity might listen that they hadn't been found. Not that she had a particularly clever or safe hiding place for them, but who would think to look in a beat up cardboard box in the back of her closet? Okay, granted, it might _look_ like she was hiding something, but who would… she threw her closet door open and fell to her knees, reaching all the way to the back and feeling around for the box. Her heart sank when she felt an empty space where the box was supposed to be. The box that contained the only remnants of her former life was gone.

A raging war of emotions rose in her chest until she felt like she could hardly breathe. Her breathing turned to ragged panting as she stood, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "Damn it all to hell, that was all I had left," she hissed. Her whole body trembled as she stormed out of the bedroom, ignoring the chaotic disarray, and headed for the kitchen to use the phone. Though she knew it was probably a hopeless endeavor, she was going to call the police and report the burglary and maybe even get her stolen items back. She wasn't concerned about money or any other "valuable" things that may have been taken, all she wanted was to have her inventions back so she could finish them, patent, and sell them. Maybe they wouldn't have the Capsule Corporation backing, but they would practically sell themselves anyway.

She heard the phone pick up, then a calm, feminine voice say, "West City Police Department."

"I would like to report a burglary." Bulma slipped into her cold business mode as soon as the conversation started. Her emotions dulled to a low, burning ember of anger and shock, allowing her to keep a clear head and report all the details necessary for a solid police investigation.

"I'll need your name and address."

Calmly, Bulma provided all the information required, remaining patient through the drawn-out process. She could hardly sit still through it, though, and started tapping her foot impatiently and balling her dress in her fist. Finally, after at least twenty minutes, Bulma hung up the phone and heaved a deep sigh filled with the last dregs of her panic.

She thought the police would come right away. But after waiting two hours and they still hadn't shown up, she called the police department again. The only information she could gather was that her report had been filed and someone would be on the way as soon as possible to talk to her in person and take a look at the scene of the crime. She was reminded not to touch or move anything around while she waited. Bulma grudgingly agreed before hanging up the phone again. She crossed her arms over her chest and trudged through her small living room, careful not to trip over the floor lamp that had been knocked over or get her feet tangled up in the blankets strewn around the room.

"Why me?" she muttered sadly. "Why did it have to be me?" She knew she didn't live in a good neighborhood. Burglaries weren't uncommon and she was privy to the gang activity and drug-dealing that went on in the back alleys. She was new to the area, but she wasn't naïve. But, it was where she could find affordable housing that gave her at least some privacy, and it was relatively close to work. Originally she had taken the job at the diner to tide her over until she found a more suitable career elsewhere, but soon she had grown into complacency and despair, and she was too tired and depressed to bother searching for better employment.

'I can't keep living like this.' It wasn't the first time she thought this, but it never felt more true than now. Now, when she had really lost everything, now that she had no hope and no way of bettering herself without some help, she knew that something had to change. She imagined herself returning home, kneeling at the front gate of the old Capsule Corporation compound and begging her parents to come outside and greet her, let alone welcome her inside, back home where she belonged. She could see them standing there, looming over her, scowling and scoffing at her pathetic pleas for mercy. Who was she kidding? She walked away from them years ago, who was she to go back and expect forgiveness?

Almost another whole hour dragged by before the police finally arrived. Bulma was already at the door waiting for them by the time they reached her front step. As tempted as she was to comment on their tardiness, she held her tongue and greeted them civilly, then showed them inside to look around.

"What a dump," one of them muttered loudly enough for her to hear. She knew he didn't just mean the fact that the place was torn apart by the burglar. Again, she refrained from lashing out verbally though she desperately wanted to.

The two policemen hardly looked around before they told her they probably wouldn't be able to find the perpetrator and that there had been a string of similar burglaries in the area over the past few months. Overall, they weren't very helpful, even condescending. As they walked out, Bulma thought about hurling something heavy and possibly breakable at the backs of their heads, but she figured that would get her into trouble she couldn't afford to deal with. She heaved a weary sigh once the door shut behind them.

"Well, that was a pointless waste of time," she remarked dryly. She wrapped her arms around herself and choked back a sob as she was struck by another bout of hopelessness. The likelihood of getting anything back was about nil. She lost more than money and possessions; she lost months of hard work, time and money spent scrounging for usable electronic parts, and the chance of getting a patent to her name within the next year. Just when she was beginning to think she might have found a way out of the rut her life had gotten stuck in, someone knocked her back down.

Her legs were no longer able to support her weight as she looked around her home. It was a mess, she had nothing left worth having, and no one would help her. She was alone and powerless and no one cared. Her misery was compounded by the fact that she knew she didn't have to live this way, that she _chose_ this path instead of simply accepting the glory and grandeur she could have inherited.

As she sank to her knees she had a vague recollection of a conference room with a huge mahogany table in the middle; several men were seated around the table listening to her with rapt attention. Then she was standing in a laboratory surrounded by a small group of scientists explaining something to them that they had observed in their experiments. Last, she saw herself sitting at the desk she recognized from her father's office; she wasn't working, wasn't talking to anyone, but she was reclining in the chair with an air of unshakable confidence and strength. This was the role she was supposed to play, her reason for living, and she had thrown it away carelessly. Perhaps the memories were merely imagination, but they felt too real to ignore. Maybe at one time she doubted that running Capsule Corporation was what she wanted, but now no doubts remained. But now… how could she become president _now_?

Tears blurred her vision as she looked around the room once more. 'I can't go on like this.' She shook her head until her inner voice was screaming, 'I can't live this pathetic life! I can be so much greater!' Gritting her teeth, she stood up and calmly walked to the front door, grabbing a jacket on the way out, and left the duplex for the last time.

Without a single backwards glance she headed for the Capsule Corporation compound. She longed to see the famous yellow domed building surrounded by well-tended gardens. More than that, she longed to see her parents, the two people she loved most who she hadn't seen since she left so long ago. It wasn't long before she broke into a light jog, and then a few blocks later a full run. She gasped and panted as her lungs burned for air, but she pressed on until her legs could no longer carry her. She tripped over a curb and fell to the ground, scraping her knees, but with pure determination driving her she pushed herself back to her feet and continued on. By the time she reached her former home it was twilight; the scarlet sunset had dimmed and the sky was darkening to indigo in the east.

Bulma shivered a little as she came to a stop in front of the gates of the compound. Never before had they looked so imposing. _'You will come crawling back to me, begging for a second chance.' _Her hand stilled over the call button as the words flooded her mind. Who had said that? She couldn't remember, but she was sure someone had told her that at the time she chose to leave. But it had been so long ago…she frowned, biting her lip as she considered turning back. It really was hopeless. She could never go back. And yet… she looked across the expansive lawn and felt a sharp pang of regret and yearning, a homesickness she had been repressing for months and years.

"Well, whoever said it was right," she murmured. "But I've got to try." She took a deep breath and pushed the call button with unnecessary force.

Bulma took a step back from the gate and ran one hand through her hair. Did she look presentable? Kami, who was she kidding? She was a wreck. Tired, messy hair, sweaty, she stank of cigarette smoke, and she was still wearing her waitress outfit. She shifted her weight between her feet and wondered if she should leave before someone could answer. She had come too hastily. She wasn't ready for this yet.

_'I _may_ be willing to have mercy on you. But only if you are willing to give yourself to me.' _The memory almost came as a relief, but she was unsettled by the darker undertones. She flipped her hair back over her shoulder and exhaled slowly. "Mind, body, soul," she breathed, hardly knowing what she was saying.

"You will be mine," another voice continued. A dark, raspy voice filled with malice and amusement. Bulma looked up, not sure when she started watching her feet, and shook her head when she saw who was standing with the gate open behind him. She would recognize him anywhere, though she couldn't remember who he was or where she had met him before. All she knew was that he was not the person she wanted to see. She came seeking to beg for forgiveness from her parents, not him!

He chuckled as he watched her backing away from him. "You aren't happy with the life you have chosen, little woman?" He sounded almost concerned. Almost sympathetic. But the look in his obsidian eyes betrayed him. She knew she couldn't trust him.

"I – I'm fine… everything is fine. I don't mind it." She wished she sounded more convincing.

In one swift motion he was right in front of her with his arms wrapped around her, mocking a comforting embrace. Her body tensed, feeling his hands gently stroking her back. "Come now, woman, you know that's a lie. You want – need – the power you once had. I can give it to you, if you just—"

"I can't sell myself to you!" she cried. Tears stung her eyes and for she hardly bothered fighting them. They poured down her cheeks and soaked into his shirt. "But I can't – I can't take it anymore. Please, give it back, give me back my life! I don't want to live like this, I can be better and I can do so much more if I only had…" she trailed off as she ran out of breath.

He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. She wondered how he could always look so serious and yet amused at the same time. She held his gaze despite wanting to avert her eyes. "If you only had _what_, Bulma?"

"Power."

_A/N: Unrealistic? Perhaps...but that's not really the point. Anyway, the next chapter is refusing to be written, and it doesn't help that that other story I mentioned wanting to be written has decided it is _going_ to be written. So great, I've started yet another story. How many is that in the making, not including this one? Six? I really need to focus. Ugh. Oh, and bonus points to anyone who can guess why I chose the name Mr. Zimbardo for the owner of the diner. Anyway, review please!_

_Beta'd by lilpumpkingirl_


	11. Chapter 10: Seduction

Chapter 10  
>Seduction<p>

Bulma jerked awake, immediately relieved when the hollow feeling left the pit of her stomach. The room she was in was too dark to see very well, but her bed was comfortable and she was twisted up in fluffy pillows and thick blankets. She hardly noticed she had been panting until her breathing calmed and her heartbeat slowed to normal.

"What the hell was that?" she groaned as she turned over onto her side. She looked at the clock on the nightstand and sighed when she saw that it was 3:37AM. Definitely not time to be up, but she knew she was going to have trouble getting back to sleep after that terrible dream. She hardly remembered anything that happened, but she knew it was unpleasant.

All she could really recall was Vegeta standing where she had hoped to see someone else, and then he had – what? Coddled her? Comforted her? No, that couldn't be right. He was a psychopath, she still wasn't sure he was real, and he was generally evil. There was no way she would be taking comfort from a person like that, would she? Of course not. And yet, she could still imagine the warmth of his embrace, the comforting way his hands rubbed her back, the calming effect of his deep voice, the way he said her name…

"That's enough of that," she snapped. No more thoughts of Vegeta, especially not _good_ thoughts. The only thing she should be thinking about him is pondering how big a creep he is. She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands, and she was surprised to find the salty remains of tears in her eyelashes and on her cheeks. She breathed another sigh and pushed her hair back from her face to look around the room. It was still too dark to see much of anything, but the faint light sneaking through the cracks in the blinds showed her the basic outline of the furniture. It wasn't familiar, but she at least had the sense to remember she was in a hotel room. Obviously the furniture wouldn't be the same as in her bedroom at home.

She couldn't figure out why Vegeta would have been hugging her anyway. Her lip curled in disgust when she realized he must have been playing with her mind, teasing her, mocking her. That was the only reason he would do that, to show her just how powerless she was in comparison, to show her that to him she was little more than a spoiled child eagerly accepting his gift but rejecting him. What could he really expect though? He was, well, a creepy evil guy and she didn't want anything to do with him. Sure, she loved holding power, but not if it meant – not if it meant giving herself to him. She slapped her hand over her mouth to hold in a gasp. 'I didn't!'

Well, what if she did? If it was in a dream it didn't mean anything. That wasn't her. If anything it was her subconscious, and it didn't know any better than to stay strong and resist temptation. That was id-Bulma, not the real Bulma, the one who made the sort of decisions like whether or not to sell herself to the devil. Still, she couldn't help but feel a mild sense of panic at the thought that maybe that empty feeling she had when she woke up was the result of giving away her… her what? '_Mind, body, soul.'_

Soul. Was that it? Was that why she felt so hollow? She bit her lip as she considered that possibility, slowly shaking her head to convince herself it wasn't true. There was no way; giving away her soul, even if she wanted to, wasn't possible. Seriously, what was a soul anyway? Something that transcends the physical body, something intangible and definitely not for sale. 'Stop thinking and sleep, Bulma.' She lay down and flipped her covers up over her head, blocking out the glowing numbers of the clock and all the uncertainty she felt. Somehow she managed to fall asleep shortly thereafter.

…

Vegeta leaned against the wall by her bed and watched her sleep for a few minutes. She looked peaceful now, but in the morning she would remember her dream – he would see to that. He knew even without the power he had given her, she would never sink that low, but he needed to make a point: she needed power no matter how much she might try to deny it. If she spurned his gift and gave up her prominent position in the world, it wouldn't matter where she wound up, she would feel as weak and forlorn as she had in her dream. With her reputation, even without Capsule Corporation, she could get a job doing almost anything. Of course Vegeta could make it more difficult for her, but he had little control over humans who lacked the attraction to power that made Bulma stand out among them.

She would give herself to him. Already she was close to reaching her breaking point, and he hadn't even done anything to her in the real world. Subconsciously the realization was there that she couldn't live without power. Now he just had to make that realization all-consuming until she could no longer ignore it or deny it, waking or sleeping.

Vegeta never gave up anything he claimed. Bulma would be no different. Smirking, he brushed her hair from her face and knelt next to her bed. "There is no escape, little woman," he purred. "You are already mine. I own you."

With those words left worming through her mind, he stood up and disappeared back into his own realm. It was time to go stir up trouble for her in another region of the world.

…

Bulma felt exhausted when she woke up, no doubt due in part to waking in the middle of the night. She rolled over to see the clock on the nightstand and groaned miserably when she saw that it was already midmorning. "Just great! I wanted to see Yamcha this morning!" With a frustrated growl she clamored out of bed and hurried to the bathroom to shower.

The warm water helped wake her up more fully, but she was surprised when it remained hot after 15 minutes. Deciding not to complain, she made no haste in getting out of the shower. She may have stayed even longer had she not heard her cell phone ringing. Disappointed as she was that it wasn't Yamcha's ringtone, she knew calls to her cell were only emergencies, so she got out of the shower and answered her phone.

"Bulma Brief."

"Miss Brief, I hate to disturb you while –"

"Get to the point," she snapped.

"The government pulled twelve million zeni in military research grants this morning. The money has been given to StarKORP."

Everything she had was gone. Bulma shook her head. That was a ridiculous thought; twelve million zeni in government funding was a lot, but it wasn't everything, and military research was not her specialty or top priority anyway. "Is there a reason?"

"No, Miss Brief."

"Thank you." Bulma sighed, running her fingers through her wet, tangled hair. "I'm going to return to headquarters this afternoon. Maybe I can find out what the hell is going on."

"Very good, Miss Brief."

"Yeah, great," she muttered, flipping her phone shut with a loud snap. "Now I have to miss Yamcha's game and waste my time arguing with pig-headed politicians. I bet StarKORP slipped a bribe for that funding. There's no way they could have better technology than CC." No, there was absolutely no way any of her competitors could, well, compete. Her company was at the top of every field of scientific research and development, always churning out the most efficient and pragmatic inventions with a stylish flair no other company could copy. Annually, Capsule Corporation spent more money on experimentation and prototypes than all the other corporations producing similar machinery, medicine, and technology. Capsule Corporation spent the most to earn the most, so it was always leading the way with cutting edge innovations that made even its own works obsolete every few months. StarKORP couldn't have proposed any sort of research more enticing to the government military. So what, then, was the reason they were stealing away Capsule Corporation's funding?

Walking back to the bathroom to finish her shower, she paused and looked over her shoulder uncertainly. Across the room was the place where she had her last confrontation with Vegeta, where she told him he could keep his power and leave her alone. Memories of the incident flooded through her mind and for a brief moment she felt a wave of panic surging through her. "What have I done?"

She shook her head as she continued on to the bathroom. Her power wasn't slipping. So what if another company received some of the funding that was supposed to go to Capsule Corporation? It wasn't the end of the world and it wasn't the end of her reign as most powerful woman in the world. Laughing at herself for her fears, she stepped into the shower and finished washing herself. Maybe her power wasn't gone, but she was still frustrated that she had to go back to work when she was supposed to be on a sort of vacation. Really she would much rather be spending time with Yamcha than arguing with politicians over a few million zeni, but there was no way she was going to let StarKORP impede on her company's territory. Capsule Corporation was the leading weapons developer and the only company worthy of so much money in government research grants. Letting it slip through her fingers would only make it easier for another company to try playing the same game later.

Bulma was on her way to the East City airport when she received another phone call that left her more upset than the one she received earlier. As if it wasn't bad enough that the government decided to take her money and hand it to an unworthy competitor, _now_ Capsule Corporation was going to have to deal with a tax audit _and_ an investigation into possible unethical human research conducted by the medical department. Just what the hell was going on? Did someone decide it was a good day to pull stupid pranks on Bulma Brief and get the government involved in her business? She had always been diligent in her efforts to keep the government out of Capsule Corporation. Never had she cheated on taxes (though she did want to) and she carefully scrutinized research proposals before applying for funding to make sure the studies abided by all laws and ethical standards upheld by the global scientific community. She was certain she hadn't slipped up anywhere, but there was no way to convince anyone of that over the phone.

'This is not going to give me good media,' she thought. Though the majority of the news media was reluctant – even terrified – to report anything negative about Capsule Corporation or its president, some stories were simply too juicy to pass up. And, despite all the power Bulma wielded, she knew she couldn't put _every_ news company out of business. Not all at once, anyway. Somehow she was going to have to get all these problems sorted out before the media caught wind of it. That was the only way to preserve her good name.

Vegeta watched Bulma as she confidently strode up to the counter at the airport to purchase a ticket for the first flight back to West City. She looked a bit rattled, but not nearly as bad as he had expected. Maybe she hadn't yet caught word of the trouble he had caused for her. Soon enough she would, and then she would break easily. He leaned against the counter and laughed to himself as she argued with the woman behind the counter who refused to sell her a ticket.

"Do you know who I am?" Bulma screeched, losing all patience and her calm, businesslike demeanor. "I'm Bulma Brief, President of Capsule Corporation! You _will_ give me a ticket this instant or I'll buy the damn airline and make sure you lose your job and never find employment again!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Brief," the woman, Marta, said apologetically. It was impressive that she was able to keep from shrinking back in fear while Bulma threw a tantrum, issuing threats she had no doubt she could back up. "I would give you a ticket, but your credit card has been maxed out. Unless you have an alternative payment method, I _cannot_ sell you a ticket."

"Maxed out?" Bulma growled, seething with anger. "My credit has no limit."

Marta sighed and twisted the computer screen around so Bulma could see the message that kept appearing every time her credit card was swiped. As long as the computer was coming to the conclusion that no funds could be drawn from Bulma's credit, there was no way a legal transaction could be processed.

"Try it again," Bulma snapped. "There must be something wrong with your system."

Marta shrugged and ran the credit card through again, but she got the same result as before. "I'm sorry, Miss Brief, but this isn't going to work. Do you have another form of payment?"

Bulma glared at her as she dug through her purse in search of another credit card or some cash. "An IOU from me should be good enough," she grumbled. Her brows furrowed when she came up empty, unable to find her wallet. Upending her purse on the counter, she frantically searched through the contents until she realized her wallet was not there. No other credit card, no cash, not even her checkbook. Nothing. Her face paled. "Where the hell is it?"

Vegeta, chuckling, tucked her wallet into his armor and leaned in close to her. Brushing her hair back over her shoulder, he whispered, "You need power."

After gathering up her belongings and retreating from the ticket counter, Bulma dialed the number of the credit company to demand an explanation for her card not working. She was put on hold and had to endure several long minutes of loud, annoying music before the line was connected to an automated message thanking her for her business and asking what she would like to do. Barely able to suppress her rage, Bulma punched the key to connect her to a real person who could hopefully answer some questions. She paced back and forth a few times before the connection was made. Instantly she was on the offensive, demanding an explanation for her account supposedly reaching the limit it didn't have.

Humans believed money was power. That was something Vegeta always thought both humorous and contemptible. A rich man was a powerful man in their world. Humans reduced power to being the equivalent of something so trivial, easily attainable, and quickly lost. What were they without it? A rich man, were he to fall into bankruptcy, was suddenly powerless, hated by society. No one respected a poor man. Respect, more than money, was power. Of course Vegeta believed power was more concrete even than respect. Power was strength, shown both through physical prowess and mental agility. Power meant being able to defeat or kill any opposition, or being able to manipulate others to follow one's will. To saiyans, money was not power, which was why they did not rely on a form of currency as humans did. Money was meaningless. But in the human world, money was everything, and having or lacking money could determine a person's worth quicker than any innate merit. And that was why Vegeta started her fall from power by attacking her personal finances first.

"What do you mean my account was closed?" Bulma ground out through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry, Miss Brief," the woman on the other end of the conversation said, "but our records show that your account was closed earlier today."

"Well open my account back up, damn it!"

"You will need to create a new account, Miss Brief. I can forward you to an operator in the accounts department."

Bulma's free hand balled into a tight fist. "Fine."

"Please hold."

"This is turning out to be one hell of a bad day," Bulma muttered. "First the thing with StarKORP, then the tax audit, the investigation by the government ethics committee, now this. What next?"

Vegeta's brow quirked when he heard her listing her problems. What thing with StarKORP? What tax audit? Investigation? He hadn't had anything to do with any of that, though he had to admit they were ingenious ways of getting under her skin. Yet how suspicious that the government was involved in each of her complaints. His eyes narrowed when he realized what was going on. How dare he meddle –

This was a perfect opportunity to win her over. Vegeta smirked as he slipped Bulma's wallet – now emptied of all cash and credit – back into her purse and departed to return to his own realm.

"Your new account will be processed and should be active after 24 hours."

"A whole day? Are you kidding me!" Bulma groaned as she hung up and slumped into a chair. No money, no credit, no way to get back to West City until her originally scheduled flight that wasn't for another week. She needed to get back to Capsule Corporation as soon as possible. There was no way she was going to trust her company in the hands of anyone else while government agents were prowling around. Without her keeping an eye on them, who knew what could happen?

"This is ridiculous. Vegeta couldn't have done this, could he?" Bulma sighed wearily and opened her phone to make one last call. Without money she couldn't take a taxi, so hopefully Yamcha was free and could pick her up from the airport and take her back to the stadium. She didn't like having to rely on him for a ride, but right now she really didn't have any way to get back to her hotel or the baseball stadium without his help. She didn't know anyone else in East City aside from former business associates, and those weren't personal relationships with strings she could pull to get assistance out of her bind. Her day didn't start out well, and it looked like it was just going to get worse.

…

Vegeta sat at the right hand of his father for the midday meal. The king looked quite pleased with himself, which made Vegeta more sure that his assumptions were correct. For some reason King Vegeta was trying to knock Bulma down a few pegs in the human world. He was using the power he still held through King Furry to tear apart her economic empire. It was a foolish move on his part; did he really believe Vegeta wouldn't figure out his plotting? Did he think Bulma would stand for it? Whether he believed it or not, she was already more powerful than the King of Earth. Of course, she opted to give up that power, but Vegeta knew she would change her mind once she saw the path her foolish decision would lead her down.

"I hear you have been skipping your daily training," King Vegeta said after a lengthy period of silence.

"Hn." Vegeta wasn't much in the mood for conversation, and the last thing he wanted to do was explain to his father why he had been focusing more attention on the human woman than his duties as prince of the saiyans. He knew his training was important; in order to become king one day he had to assert himself as the strongest saiyan alive. Not only that, he needed extensive battle experience and practice in strategy to lead an army one day. The king of saiyans did not sit on the throne while his men fought wars; rather, he was on the front lines leading his army down the warpath with unrivaled courage, strength, and pride.

The days of being tutored were long over, but until he ascended to the throne, Vegeta was expected to train with battle-hardened warriors daily. In the morning, afternoon, and evening, only taking breaks to eat and occasionally attend meetings with his father or sit in on hearings with the army officers. It was equally important for him to stay up to date on matters of state as it was for him to grow in power.

"Explain yourself," King Vegeta ordered.

"My training in pointless, Father," Vegeta started. He looked the king in the eye as he continued, "There are no warriors who can challenge me in battle. I learn nothing from them and my growth in power has stagnated. Until you find someone who will push me to my limits, I see no reason to waste my time."

King Vegeta grunted before eating in silence for a few more minutes. Vegeta thought the matter had been dropped, but then the king spoke again. "I know of one warrior – a third-class – who has shown great potential. I will send orders to bring him to the royal palace to be your sparring partner."

Vegeta scoffed. "A third-class?"

"He is likely to rise in rank." King Vegeta gave his son a hard look, communicating to him that the matter was settled and there was no use arguing over it further. "You would do well to spend more time with your own people rather than chasing foolishly after that human girl."

"You mean to distract me from her."

"She is distracting _you_ from your responsibilities in this kingdom!"

Vegeta stood up abruptly, the tip of his tail flicking with his agitation. "You think me a fool, Father. I know what you are trying to do and I will not allow it. That woman is under my control and you will not stop me from using her. Quit meddling in my affairs."

"The insolence of that brat!" King Vegeta fumed once the prince had left the dining hall. He was left to finish his meal alone, contemplating how he would drive his son away from the human woman before he became too attached to her.

…

Over the next week Vegeta kept a close watch over Bulma as she tried to keep control of her company through phone calls, video calls, and emails. He saw her outrage when articles about Capsule Corporation's plight started appearing in the newspapers. He watched her rant and rave to herself as she paced through her hotel rooms, often picking up small objects and throwing them across the room, taking only small satisfaction when they banged against walls or furniture. Entertaining as it was, he was more interested in pushing her to admit she needed him. Every day she was a step closer, a little nearer the edge of collapse when she would finally come to the realization that she was trapped with no way out unless she asked for his help. Every day the company sank deeper and she was unable to pull it from the pit of failure despite her best efforts. No tantrum could save Capsule Corporation; what it needed was a leader with true power, and she knew it – she just hadn't faced it yet.

"I'm not going to be some nobody!" she screamed furiously at the empty room. "I'm not going to be some waitress at a shit diner in the slums of West City! Damn it, I am fucking Bulma Brief! As soon as I get back home I'm going to…" Her voice trailed off in a long slur of incoherent screeching and broken pieces of a hundred threats.

"How dare he do this to me!" Bulma stomped her feet and screamed more. "You hear me, Vegeta? I'll get you for this, you bastard!" She slammed the last of her clothes into her suitcase and sat on it to be able to zip it up. Her voice was going hoarse from all her raging over the past few days along with her cheering at the baseball games. Not surprisingly, the Taitans won the championship, but that was hardly enough to improve her mood when she was so powerless to help her company while she was stranded in East City.

Hot tears of anger burned in her eyes. Brushing them away, she released a deep, shaky breath and looked around her room to make sure she hadn't forgotten to pack anything. Satisfied when she didn't see anything else hanging in the closet or on top of the bureau of drawers, she stood up and dragged her suitcase behind her toward the door. It had been a perfectly miserable week. She still didn't have any money and for some reason her credit account was taking forever to finalize and activate. She had been forced to ask Yamcha for rides and money, which shamed her for she never would have asked anything of him had she had her own finances. He really didn't mind, but she didn't want to be so dependent. She was afraid he would start to see her as clingy, a typical woman who refused to ever foot the bill, who bothered him all the time for attention when he wanted to spend time with his buddies or focus on his game.

She took the elevator down to the main floor and smiled when she saw Yamcha waiting for her in the lobby. "Hey, Yam," she greeted him with a peck on the cheek.

"Hey, B, you ready to go?" He took her suitcase from her and headed out of the hotel with her walking alongside him.

"I'm really sorry about everything," she said once they were sitting in his rental car. "I still have no idea what happened. Kami, I just hope the company's been okay without me there."

Yamcha chuckled lightly. "I'm sure it's fine, babe. You need to trust your employees more. You've got all the smartest people on the planet working for you; they're not idiots who'll mess everything up as soon as you're gone."

"I know." She sighed, looking out the window. "I just worry, you know? I feel like I should have been there for all this shit that's going on."

"Yeah, but hey, at least you got to stay and watch me win the series." He grinned and hugged her around the shoulders when they came to a red light.

"You mean your team won."

"Mostly because of me, let's face it."

She laughed a little and nodded. "Yeah, you did have the most RBI's."

Their conversation was more light-hearted for the remainder of the ride to the airport. Yamcha dropped her off and helped her with her bags, but he wasn't returning to West City until the next day when the rest of the team went together. They said their goodbyes at the security gate and Yamcha wished her good luck before leaving. From there Bulma was left on her own. Getting through security was a bit of a hassle with all her computers and other gadgets, but eventually she made it through and got to her gate with plenty of time to spare.

She was sitting there waiting for her plane when she received another call from headquarters. By then she was used to frequent calls, but that didn't stop her from groaning in frustration before she answered. "Bulma Brief."

"Miss Brief, the government is pulling seven of our drugs from the market."

Bulma cursed under her breath. "Why?"

"According to the investigation, the drugs were marketed using false claims based on unethical and incomplete research."

"What kind of bullshit reasoning is that?" Bulma hissed. "Those assholes better start packing their bags because they're getting out of there as soon as I get back."

She thought she heard a sigh of relief on the other end. She smirked, knowing her employees trusted her fully to handle the government agents and kick them out of headquarters before they could cause any more trouble. Her staff might fear her, but they knew she was in charge and couldn't be stopped when she went on a rampage, which was sure to happen as soon as she set foot in the headquarters building.

"Keep me updated," she said before hanging up.

She leaned the other way when a man sat down next to her on her right. Without sparing him a glance she pulled a laptop out of her carry-on bag and connected to the internet to check the stock market. So far Capsule Corporation hadn't been suffering, but she didn't know how long that would last if more negative stories continued leaking to the news media. Hopeful as she was that her corporation was still staying afloat, her face fell when she saw its stock was plummeting in value. "Shit."

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

Bulma froze. That voice… "What I _wanted_ was for you to leave me alone."

"Take it and give it to someone else. I don't want it anymore. I'd be happy without it." His voice perfectly mimicked her tone, making her feel small and foolish.

She watched Capsule Corporation's stock take another nosedive. "So _you_ did this?"

He shrugged. "Who can say? Let's just put it this way: I'm the only one who can help you now."

"I won't sell myself to you, Vegeta." Bulma closed her laptop and crossed her arms over her chest, almost pouting. Though she hardly believed herself anymore, she told him, "I can find a way to fix this mess without you. Or in spite of you."

Vegeta chuckled darkly. "Suit yourself, little woman."

Bulma felt like she was rousing from a deep daydream when Vegeta disappeared from the seat next to her. She looked around, only half expecting to see some sign of him, but there was nothing to hint at the saiyan's short visit. 'Why do I even bother talking to him?' she wondered. 'I still don't know if he's real. Besides, even if he is, I really want nothing to do with him.'

She couldn't keep her anxiety from growing as she was surrounded by bad media on all the TVs around the airport. It seemed every news station was reporting Capsule Corporation's imminent downfall. More drugs were being recalled, lawsuits were being filed against the company, one of the board members was being arrested for tax evasion and fraud, and a stockpile of illegal drugs was found in one of the company warehouses in the South Oceanic District. Already some politicians and fellow businesspeople were calling for her resignation as president before the company failed completely under her poor guidance. She still had no idea how all this calamity had happened or why she hadn't been able to fix it already even being stuck in East City for the past week. Arguing with politicians, demanding explanations for pulled funding and investigations, trying to threaten her way out of trouble, even attempting blackmail had been ineffective. She and the corporation were in deep and it seemed there was no way out. At least, no way that she could think of...

Was this really what she wanted? She shook her head, refusing to dwell on that thought before it got her into trouble. Bulma Brief was a genius and she was powerful and influential and she could sort through all this without anyone's help. All she needed was a little time. But time was in short supply; Capsule Corporation was on the verge of collapse and she had to save it before it crumbled beneath her.

What had he done? How could she stop him? He really was bent on stealing away her power. Vegeta, the sadistic bastard! Oh, she hated him, she loathed him with the burning passion of a thousand suns. How selfish could he be? She had worked so hard for this all her life, and he was tearing it away from her without a second thought! He was cold and heartless! Didn't he care about anything she had sacrificed for the company's benefit? How could he do this to her? What did he really want from her?

Mind, body, soul. What the _hell_ did that even mean? She felt like ripping her hair out as she watched her stock drop further. 'This can't be happening. This is a bad dream. Something has to go right for a change.'

She had to remind herself that panicking would get her nowhere. It would only freeze her mind, keep her from coming up with a plan that would save herself and the company. Closing her eyes, she went through a calming breathing exercise she learned years ago when she was stressed out from her heavy coursework in college. A few minutes later she felt a little better, but her heart was still thumping in her chest, as if trying to break free from its cage.

'How can I fight someone who doesn't live in this realm? How can I beat him at his own game? What if I really _do _have everything because of him? Would I really be happy without it? But he wants to control me! He even wants to be able to tell me I can't date Yamcha!' Bulma looked down at her hands and noticed her knuckles were white from the tight grip she had on the hem of her blouse.

"Is that what's stopping you?" She felt his hand on her cheek, but she couldn't see him this time.

She turned her head to face away from where she imagined he was. "I don't want anyone telling me what to do. I want autonomy."

"Haven't you always able to make your own decisions?" This time she felt his hand on her waist. For some reason it excited her.

"I thought so, but how do I know you weren't just planting ideas in my head?"

"Even if I was, didn't you always get what you wanted?"

"How do I know that was even what I wanted? How do I know how far you've manipulated me?"

"You can never know that for sure, little woman." She smelled death as his lips played along her jaw, his teeth gently scraping her skin. "But at least then you were happy."

Well, she couldn't really deny that. Still, how could she give in now that she knew what was really going on? Could she ever be happy knowing she was powerful because of him instead of her own hard work and determination? Accepting a gift from him, even if it cost her, wasn't the same as knowing she earned everything herself. She clasped her hands together, noticing how cold and clammy her palms felt. This could be the most important decision of her life. Did she want to go through with it? How could she? How _couldn't_ she?

"I know you want me."

She gasped when something stroked her inner thigh. 'It was his hand. It was only his hand. Please let it only be his hand.'

"Actually it was my tail." He snickered when a faint blush crept across her cheeks. "Of course I know your thoughts, little woman. And I know your deepest desires. Give yourself to me, and I will give you everything you've ever wanted. I will make you greater than you ever were before. I will clean up this little mess at Capsule Corporation. I will smite those who rise against you. No one will be able to touch you."

"Except you."

Silence.

"I thought so." Bulma took a long, deep breath. "Let me see you."

An instant later she saw Vegeta, startled by how close he was though she knew he was practically on top of her. She found herself looking into his obsidian eyes, entranced by the power hidden barely below the surface. "What if I change my mind later?" she breathed.

"You won't."

Bulma closed her eyes and nodded slowly. She had no idea if he was doing it to her, but she felt a wave of helplessness and powerlessness crashing through her when she thought about the situation she was in. Capsule Corporation was going to fall apart and she was going to be a disgrace. Both in the scientific and business communities of the world she would be a laughingstock if anything happened to her company. Her father would be so disappointed, her former colleagues would look down on her in pity and disgust. She felt like she was running, running toward home, trying to find a safe haven, only to be shut out, unable to escape the life of misery she chose so foolishly. She couldn't do it. She couldn't live without power.

Opening her eyes, she met his dark gaze fearlessly. "I'm yours, Vegeta. Give me the power to take back what is rightfully mine, and make it so that no one can ever take it away from me again."

He didn't bother asking her if she was sure. He didn't make her sign any kind of contract in blood or perform a binding ritual. Vegeta simply stood and smirked triumphantly before vanishing before her eyes, leaving her alone in the airport while several people nearby looked at her as if she were crazy. She felt her face burning with embarrassment; they couldn't see or hear Vegeta, so to them she had been talking to herself. Oh well, let them stare. Bulma Brief was making a comeback and soon the whole world would be groveling at her feet.

_A/N: So... it's been a while since my last update. Sorry! I was suffering from rather severe writer's block and lack of free time to write. Forgive me. I hope this chapter was worth waiting for and didn't feel too rushed. I'll try to get another chapter written soon so I can hopefully resume regular (weekly) updates!_

_Beta'd by lilpumpkingirl_


	12. Chapter 11: Trust

Chapter 11  
>Trust<p>

Bulma stepped off the plane, taking quick, short strides that propelled her through the throng of slower or disoriented passengers from her flight, making her feel almost as if they were purposely parting ways for her. Televisions throughout the West City airport were all turned to global news stations, and every one of them was reporting Capsule Corporation's troubles. Bulma caught snippets of the reports and commentaries as she pushed her way through the crowd, hearing negative phrases like "demise of the Capsule Corporation empire" and "threats to sue Capsule Corporation" that would have shaken her to the core had she not known she had recently acquired a Get Out of Jail Free card. So confident was she that she considered waiting until the next day to return to work, but her pride spurred her on, demanding she assert herself as the undisputed leader of the greatest company in the world. But first she needed to stop at home and prepare herself. Vegeta might be helping, but she was the one who would be doing all the work and she refused to set foot in headquarters without a fully loaded arsenal of techniques that had never failed to get her out of trouble before: namely, all relevant information plus her wit.

After claiming her luggage, she went outside and found a limousine already waiting for her, as it should be. She settled into her seat in the back while her chauffer loaded her bags into the trunk. She wasn't sure yet how exactly she was supposed to lift her corporation out of disgrace; according to Vegeta he already knew what to do, so she was waiting for him to guide her. So far simple reasoning had been less than effective and threats had been even more useless. She was fighting the first battle in her life that she didn't know how to win. What information was she missing? What bribery or reasoning hadn't she used yet? Her lips curved down in a small frown as she leaned her head against the window. If she knew more about what was going on at headquarters she would be able to figure out a solution on her own without anyone's help. Gathering information over the phone had been troublesome and inadequate, so it seemed that for the moment she was going to have to rely on help whether she wanted it or not – and she didn't.

She mulled over her predicament for much of the ride home. Eventually, though, she decided to stop thinking about it, certain that everything would fall into place. 'Assuming Vegeta ever tells me what's going on.'

"Patience, little woman."

Bulma shifted uncomfortably in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well excuse me," she grumbled, "it's only everything I have at stake here."

"Don't you trust me?"

"Not really." She felt uneasy when she heard his dark chuckle, relieved when it faded away. She didn't like that she couldn't always see him. He could be anywhere doing anything. How could she trust someone like that? Shaking her head, she glanced out the window and saw that the limousine was pulling up to the front gate of the Capsule Corporation compound. Perfect. Home already and still no clue what the plan was. Maybe she was on her own after all. Maybe Vegeta didn't have a plan yet either. Maybe she was in over her head deeper than she thought.

As soon as she walked through the front door she was practically tackled by her bawling mother. Startled, Bulma awkwardly hugged her, rubbing her back soothingly. For a while the only sounds were the sniffling and hiccupping of Mrs. Brief and the soft rustling of Bulma's hand on her silk blouse. Finally, Bulma asked, "Mom, what's wrong?"

"Oh honey, it's just awful what's been happening to the company! You've got to do something!" Mrs. Brief clutched Bulma's jacket in her hands, further burying herself in Bulma's embrace.

"Yeah, I know. Don't worry about it. I know what to do."

Well, she would. Gently freeing herself from her mother's grip, she headed upstairs to her bedroom where the servant bots were already taking her luggage. 'Come on, Vegeta, tell me what your plan is.' She opened the door to her room and nearly shrieked when she saw Vegeta sitting on her bed, back straight and both feet planted firmly on the floor like a statue of a revered king. Strangely, the mattress didn't seem to sink under his weight, giving the impression he wasn't really there. Again Bulma wondered if he were real before pushing that thought aside to address at a later time.

"Took you long enough to get here," he said patronizingly.

"Don't even start with me." Bulma tossed her carry-on bag on the floor and trudged over to sit on the bed – not too close to him. Traveling was always tiring. She wasn't ready to go to headquarters yet.

"Hn." Seeing her distastefully close proximity, Vegeta shifted away from her, a condescending sneer curling his lip. "You need to get dressed."

"I'm already dressed."

He smirked. "Not appropriately."

Bulma looked down at herself, her brow creasing in confusion. Her chiffon blouse was rather conservative, deep red with a mandarin collar, and she was wearing a black jacket that matched her pants."What do you mean by that? I look very professional, thank you very much!"

"Hence the problem." Vegeta stood up and walked over to her dresser. He pulled open her underwear drawer and started digging through it much to Bulma's chagrin.

"Hey! Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

"Getting your power back," he said, throwing her a push-up bra and thong.

"How is this going to help?" she hissed, blushing when she saw what he had picked out for her to wear.

"Don't you trust me?"

"No."

"Put it on." Ignoring her disapproving frown, Vegeta opened another drawer and searched through it until he found what he wanted: a pink silk camisole with lace across the bust. He tossed it on the bed next to Bulma as he went to her closet to complete her ensemble.

"You've got to be kidding me," Bulma muttered. With a deep sigh she started undressing. She didn't understand how her underclothes made a difference, but she decided it was a simple enough order to go along with. She faced away from the closet and put what Vegeta had given her on quickly while he couldn't see her. Then she sat on her bed and hugged a pillow to her chest to cover herself as much as possible.

Vegeta emerged from her closet with a light gray skirt and matching jacket, which he dropped on the bed next to her.. Seemingly unaffected by Bulma's scantily clad body, he gruffly told her to hurry up and get to headquarters. That said, he vanished, leaving Bulma to finish dressing in privacy.

Bulma groaned when she looked herself over in the mirror. The high-waisted pencil skirt stretched and strained to fit around her hips as if it were a size too small, only partially relieved by the slit up the back that nearly reached her ass. The jacket had a single button at the waist and fit tightly across her shoulders, making it pull open across her chest like the pages of a pin-up magazine to reveal the lace of the camisole and her amplified cleavage. Despite being dressed she felt naked and exposed. Just what the hell was Vegeta thinking?

"I look like a hooker," she groused as she left her room, pulling on a pair of black pumps. Careful to avoid her parents, she quickly left the compound in a sleek black hovercar. "Whatever you're planning, Vegeta, it better work." She waited, but this time he didn't respond. "Asshole."

…

"Are you _sure_ this is a good idea, Vegeta?"

Vegeta's tail flicked angrily as he turned his back on the low-class flunky who, unfortunately, followed him nearly everywhere he went lately. "Kakarot, simply because my father ordered you to be my sparring partner does _not_ make you my advisor, comrade, confidant, or _friend_," he spat acidly. "And that's Prince Vegeta to you, clown."

Kakarot sighed, rubbing his wild black hair with one hand while the other rested on his hip. "But don't you think this might not go well for her? Don't you care what might happen?"

The saiyan prince snorted. "Care? Of course not. The end justifies the means, but I suppose you wouldn't understand that. What the woman wants – all _I _care about – is regaining her power in the human world. Besides, my plan has already been set into motion. This is by far the best course of action for a quick turnaround. You would do well not to question me again."

"Yes, sir." It was hard for Kakarot to watch his prince using the human woman like this. Though he held no particular attachment to her, he still regretted not being able to help devise a better plan to aid her in her current dilemma. Since he learned of Vegeta's plan he had accompanied him everywhere, watching as he meddled in the humans' affairs and planted ideas in the minds of those more inclined to seek power. He was a master at manipulation, and he did truly believe the end justified the means. Kakarot, however, did not necessarily hold this belief. He was concerned only with righteousness, and he was appalled to see a severe lack of righteousness in the actions of his prince and the blue-haired human woman. He should have been accustomed to seeing unrighteousness everywhere he turned, but he still couldn't bear to witness it in both realms everywhere he looked. He still hadn't found a human who met his standards, one whom he could attach himself to and help and influence; there just weren't any humans who lived a predominantly righteous lifestyle with a pure heart, acting for the sake of goodness rather than for some future gain.

He was so perplexed that he didn't notice the prince had continued on without him until he saw that he was alone in the foyer of the Capsule Corporation headquarters building. Brilliant sunlight streamed in the wall of windows, reflecting off the polished marble floor, making him blink and squint for a moment. The only noises he could hear were hushed conversations of the people waiting for elevators, the occasional phone ringing at the reception desk, and the babbling fountain on the far side of the foyer. All sounds from outside were distant and muffled, mostly indiscernible by the humans, but he could hear them well. Shaking his head sadly, he retreated from the space between realms to the realm of the saiyans to await Prince Vegeta's return.

…

When Bulma reached headquarters she didn't get out of her car right away. Even before she parked in front of the main gate she saw the mob of protestors swarming around the walled courtyard of the building. They were shouting, chanting some protest slogans, and holding and waving signs that denounced Capsule Corporation with phrases like "Ban Unethical Drugs," "End CC's Monopoly" and "Resign, Bulma Brief!" In short, they wanted her out of her position and they wanted more lawful restrictions on business so that Capsule Corporation wouldn't take over the world.

Among the protestors were a few brave Capsule Corporation security guards who were trying to maintain some order and deter vandalism and violence. Bulma thought perhaps she should offer a bonus to the men for their attempts. Kami knew they were having a hell of a time dealing with the band of lunatics. Several of the guards upon seeing her car pull up to the curb broke free from the riot and went over to provide her protection as needed, acting as shields against projectiles, fists, and spit while pushing a path through the crowd.

Bulma cut the engine and grabbed her purse and briefcase from the passenger seat, still not eager to get out. Though not ashamed of her body in the least, she felt self-conscious about strutting into work dressed so provocatively, especially when there were so many angry people about to witness it. What was she supposed to do, go in there, flaunt herself, and everything would be fine? Wouldn't someone figure out what she was trying to do? Oh, the shame of lowering herself to using her body to get what she wanted…Gritting her teeth she opened her door and carefully got out of her car, not wanting any passers-by to accidentally catch a glimpse up her skirt, which she immediately tugged down to reach her knees.

With the assistance of the security guards, she slowly made her way to the gate – if only because she took short strides to prevent her skirt from riding up her legs. Once she was through the gates she dismissed the guards to keep order outside, not oblivious to their wandering eyes. Forget the bonuses. Feeling more self-conscious than ever, she went inside and headed directly to the elevator without announcing her arrival to the receptionist. She was grateful when the elevator doors opened as soon as she pushed the button to go up to her office. She wasn't sure where to begin; there were so many problems to deal with that the task seemed almost too daunting, even for her. As doubt crept into her mind she hoped Vegeta would know what to do first.

"Of course I know," his gruff voice rumbled behind her.

Bulma rolled her eyes at his arrogant attitude. "Mind telling me then?"

When the elevator stopped at her floor and the door opened, she saw Vegeta sitting at her desk with his feet up and arms crossed over his chest. She scowled at him for taking her seat, the throne of Capsule Corporation, but she didn't say anything about it. Resting her hands on her hips, she quirked an eyebrow. "So?"

"You will first address the problem of unethical testing –"

"Which is total bullshit!"

"—by seducing the head—"

"What!"

"—of the investigation," he finished, ignoring her interruptions.

Bulma stared at him for a minute, clenching and unclenching her hands into fists. Seeing he wasn't going to change the plan, she shook her head and ran her hands through her hair. "You've got to be kidding me. Everyone would know and figure I just bribed him! That would make everything worse than it already is."

Vegeta pointed at a security camera. "There will be proof he advanced on you. Further, when you accuse him of sexual harassment, incriminating evidence will be brought forth to back up your claims."

Bulma rubbed her temples, hoping to ease a sudden migraine. "You're insane if you think I'll do this."

"Don't you trust me?"

She laughed humorlessly, incredulously. "Why do you keep asking me that? You know I don't."

He shrugged. "Maybe you should."

Bulma leaned against her desk and glared at the floor, resting one hand on her hip while the other pinched the bridge of her nose. "Are you sure it'll work? I don't know how to seduce him! At least not without being obvious."

"Half the work is already done. I'll take care of the rest." He smirked, his eyes freely roaming over her figure. "Follow my instructions and you'll have your power back by tomorrow."

"Where will you be?"

"With you." He stood up, leaving the chair swiveling around behind him. "You're the only one who can see or hear me."

"Yeah, great." Bulma's shoulders slumped a little. For a while she gazed out the window, uncertain about how to proceed, not sure she even _should_ proceed – at least not with Vegeta's plan. Her emotions played across her face as she warred with herself, her expression turning from indecision to anger to reluctant resignation. A small sigh escaped her lips as she subtly nodded her agreement to follow his instructions and accept his help.

"Well, what the hell are you waiting for?" he snapped. "Get to work!"

Bulma was stunned by his abrupt change in mood. Vaguely impatient before, he seemed absolutely livid with her for wasting time now. It was hard for her not to shrink back from him, but somehow she managed to stand her ground. Trembling, she took her seat and looked at Vegeta expectantly, silently demanding a more detailed explanation of the plan of action. "What do you want me to do?"

"Request a meeting with Ningyō."

Nodding, Bulma picked up her phone. "He's probably on the medical research floor, right?" Seeing Vegeta's nod, she dialed the number for her head medical researcher's office.

"Hello, Dr. Ishi speaking."

"Ishi, this is President Brief. I want you to send the head investigator to my office immediately. I need to meet with him right away."

"Yes, Miss Brief. Kami, what a relief to have you here."

Bulma grinned at the praise. "Things are going to get better. Leave it to me. For now keep _cooperating_ with the investigation."

"Yes, Miss Brief."

Hanging up the phone, Bulma rocked back in her chair. She really wasn't looking forward to what she had to do, but if Vegeta said it would work, she'd try it. Hopefully the man wasn't old or ugly or she might not be able to mask her revulsion. 'Forgive me, Yamcha. I've got to do this to save my business.'

Vegeta snorted. "I don't see why you concern yourself with that pathetic creature."

"He is not pathetic! And I love him."

"Pity." Vegeta stood looking out the window, the tip of his tail twitching agitatedly. He didn't turn when the elevator door slid open and a middle-aged man walked into the office, but he was watching the reflection in the glass, appraising the faint bluish form of the investigator as he strutted toward Bulma's desk with smug confidence. One corner of Vegeta's lips turned up as he drove a tendril of his consciousness into the man's mind – what would become his puppet string – and explored his thoughts and feelings. He felt the thrill of attraction and budding lust that grew in the pit of his stomach coupled with genuine admiration and awe.

"Miss Brief, I am honored to meet you," the man said with a formal bow. "My name is Ayatsuri Ningyō. I'm sorry about all the trouble this investigation has caused your company."

Bulma looked him over while he talked. He was tall – taller than Yamcha by a few inches – and he had thick brown hair that was graying around his temples. He had a dark complexion and wrinkles on his forehead, which made Bulma think he spent a lot of time outdoors. A sportsman? He did have broad shoulders and playful brown eyes.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said after he finished his introduction. "I have been eager to meet you." Eager to meet him and destroy him, that is.

"I'm sure you understand why I'm here…"

"Certainly. It's protocol." Bulma's smile was sweeter than honey as she stood up and gestured to the leather chairs. "Why don't we have a seat over here? It's much more comfortable." When he went over to sit down she shot a look over her shoulder at Vegeta, wanting to urge him to help her, but he was still facing away and didn't seem to be paying any attention. She sighed. "Would you care for some refreshments? Tea or coffee, perhaps?"

"Water would be fine, thank you."

"Sure." Bulma hoped he was watching as she bent over to open her mini-fridge and grab a bottle of water. Her face burned with humiliation as her skirt inched up her legs. 'I can't do this. Oh, Kami, forget it, I can't do it! I'm not a slut… augh, but I need to get him out of the way so Capsule Corporation doesn't fall apart. I'm making this sacrifice for the sake of the company. But what about my dignity? I can't, I can't, I can't. But – ugh! But I have to! Suck it up and do it, Bulma.'

When she turned around, a beaming smile on her face, she saw his eyes were glued to her and he looked almost as flushed as her. What a creep! Sportsman, indeed. More like a skirt chaser. At least that made her current job easier, both morally and tactically. She sashayed over to him with an exaggerated swing of her hips, putting a spell over him. He would be caught in her web in no time. Sitting down in the chair across from him, she leaned forward to hand him the water, smirking to herself when she saw his gaze dip down to her cleavage. When she sat back she crossed her legs, purposely giving him a brief peek at her panties.

"So could you please explain to me exactly what the problem is with my research?"

Ayatsuri cleared his throat, shifting a little in his seat. "Well, you see it was brought to the attention of the Ethical Research Bureau that there is a lack of proper documentation for several experiments and clinical trials for a number of recently marketed drugs that used human participants."

"Oh my," Bulma said, putting her hand over her heart in feigned surprise, again drawing his attention to her bust. "I can assure you Capsule Corporation strictly follows all ethical guidelines for research in every department, most stringently in medical."

"I don't doubt you, Miss Brief, but it is my job to prove that to the ERB."

She laughed lightly, flirtatiously. "I suppose it would be too much to ask you to take my word for it."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"I do hope my staff has been helpful and cooperative during your investigation," Bulma said as she unbuttoned her jacked and shrugged it off.

He didn't answer for a moment, too enchanted by the beautiful woman across from him. Realizing he was ogling her, he again cleared his throat. "Yes, yes of course."

Mentally she snorted. He probably didn't even know what they were talking about. She had specifically instructed her employees to hold up the investigation any way they could until she could return to West City. Helpful and cooperative? Not likely.

"That's good to hear." She uncrossed her legs, then crossed them again. "Well then, is there anything I can do to help expedite the investigation? I'm sure you're ready to be done here, and I know my employees would like for things to return to normal. No offense, I mean."

"I wouldn't mind staying a while longer," he murmured.

"Pardon?"

He shook his head to clear it. "What I meant to say is, I don't mind being here, but I understand your concern. As for how you could help, would you be able to provide the letters of consent and proof of debriefing for each trial run of the drugs under question?"

"I'm sure that would be manageable." Bulma stood up and smoothed her skirt over her hips. "I would have to go look in the records room for them."

"Of course." He folded his hands in his lap. "You don't need to go right now though."

"Oh? Is there something else you wish to discuss?"

He frowned a little, then forced a small smile as he asked light-heartedly, "Are you always so focused on business?"

"Usually. Why?" Bulma crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow, wondering what he was getting at.

"I thought maybe we could just talk a little."

Bulma sighed dramatically as she sat down again. "Mr. Ningyō, I really am a busy woman, especially since I just returned from a trip to East City –"

He cut in, "Yes, I know Miss Brief, but I really have wanted to meet you for some time now, and I may not have another opportunity. And please, call me Ayatsuri."

"I have no idea why a man such as yourself would be interested in meeting _me_," she said, giggling.

Ayatsuri slid over to the chair next to hers and leaned toward her. She had to fight to keep herself from leaning away. "But you're such a remarkable woman, Miss Brief. So young and already president of such a large business. And I hear your brilliance can rival your beauty."

"Oh stop, you're just trying to flatter me." She lightly touched his shoulder, the same way she always did when she was younger and liked flirting with boys.

He grinned, flashing his straight white teeth that sharply contrasted with his olive complexion. "Not at all! It's the truth!"

She sighed, this time sadly. "That may be, but I'm sorry, I can't take the time to chat today. Now, would you like to accompany me to the records room?"

Though dejected, he still looked hopeful. "No problem."

'Vegeta, you'd better come too.' Bulma stood and put her jacket on.

Vegeta finally turned around and looked her up and down. She got the vague impression he hadn't been paying attention at all and needed to see whether anything physical had happened yet. "Are you afraid, little woman? You're doing fine on your own."

So maybe he had been listening. He was so damn hard to read she started feeling frustrated just talking to him. Well, thinking to him. 'You're going to abandon me with this pervert?'

"Abandon you? What could I do to him if he tried anything here? I'm not in your world. It makes no difference if I'm with you or not." To prove his point, he passed through her desk as he strolled across the room.

Following him with her eyes, she reminded him, 'You said you would stay with me!'

"Relax, woman," he said impatiently, rolling his eyes, "I'll come."

His water unopened and forgotten, Ayatsuri stood and led the way to the elevator. Bulma felt uneasy standing next to him as they waited for the elevator, but she didn't let it show. Oddly, she took some comfort in Vegeta's presence when he appeared next to her on the other side. If he were physically there she might have even leaned on him for support. How ridiculous to feel more comfortable with the monster who had raped her than a man who so far had only looked and complimented her. From the corner of her eye she could see Vegeta smirking, probably privy to her feelings about him and Ayatsuri.

'Do you really think he'll try something with me?'

"You mean physically? Yes, woman, he will."

'And you would let that happen?' she shrieked mentally.

Vegeta shrugged nonchalantly. "Why should you care? It'll get you your power back. Isn't that what you want?"

'Yes, but…'

"You can't back out now, woman."

'There has to be a better way to get rid of him.' Her brows pinched together as she frowned at the unopened elevator door.

"How much success have you had with other methods?"

Bulma glanced over at Ayatsuri and sneered. 'None.'

"Exactly. Because your records are missing."

'What!' Bulma's mouth opened and closed a few times, unable to form words as his words sank in.

"Is something the matter, Miss Brief?" asked Ayatsuri.

"Huh? Oh, uh, no. Nothing's wrong."

Ayatsuri didn't seem entirely convinced as he continued to look at her for a few more seconds, but Bulma didn't care, her thoughts returning to the issue at hand. 'What do you mean they're missing?'

Vegeta smirked. "Why did you think you were having so much difficulty?"

'I – I don't know.' Vegeta laughed at her sullen expression, which riled her up more than she wanted to admit. She hated how he was always entertained at her expense. He was still laughing by the time the elevator reached the medical research floor. Ignoring him, Bulma stepped off the elevator with Ayatsuri following.

"We have already scoured your records," Ayatsuri said while Bulma unlocked the door, "but we were never able to find the correct documents. Perhaps they were incorrectly filed."

"Perhaps." Bulma flipped the light on and went inside. The fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed as if waking reluctantly from a long slumber. The room was large and cold, the walls lined with file cabinets with ten rows of cabinets in the middle. Finding anything there looked like an impossible chore unless one knew the filing system. Even though Bulma knew it, though, she also knew the records weren't there.

'What should I do?'

Vegeta shrugged one shoulder. "You know the plan. Better hurry."

Bulma wanted to slap him, but she couldn't. Seduce Ayatsuri. That's all she had to do. "I think they're in this file cabinet," she said, picking one at random. "In the top drawer. Hold on." She went back to the door where there was a step stool and picked it up, casting a cold glare at Vegeta who was leaning against the wall there. Then she carried it back to the file cabinet and dropped it down on the floor with a loud thunk. She stepped onto the stool and pulled the top drawer open to start searching for the missing records, pausing when an idea hit her.

"Then again," she said, pointing to the next cabinet, "it could be in the bottom drawer there. Could you look for me?"

"Sure." Ayatsuri knelt down and pulled open the drawer, but he didn't look through the files. Instead he was busy looking up Bulma's skirt.

"Ugh, I can't move in this thing!" Bulma growled, practically tearing her jacket off.

"I know what you mean," Ayatsuri mumbled breathlessly.

Bulma went back to digging through the drawer, almost convincing herself that if she looked hard enough she would find the papers and be saved from her humiliation. After a few minutes she finally gave up and stepped down to the floor. "Damn, I really thought they'd be there. You didn't find anything?"

"Not yet." Ayatsuri closed the drawer. "What do you say we take a break?"

Bulma looked at him in surprise. "We just started."

"I've been working since eight this morning."

"You can take a break. I'll just keep working here." She pulled open another drawer and pretended to search through the folders. From the corner of her eye she saw Vegeta shift his position and cross his arms over his chest. More than anything he looked bored.

"You sure?" Ayatsuri asked, leaning against the row of cabinets behind her.

"Absolutely."

A silence fell between them for a few minutes before he said, only half jokingly, "I like your shoes."

"Uh, thanks. Not many men even notice my shoes." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly aware of the throbbing in her heels. Maybe her shoes were stylish, but they weren't very comfortable.

Ayatsuri smiled with a shrug. "Not many women in the corporate world have such a bold sense of style."

Bold? Nice euphemism. She was dressed like a slut! Honestly she wasn't sure why she even owned the clothes she was wearing. Her eyes narrowed when she heard the faint sound of Vegeta's amused chuckle.

"I don't normally dress like this for work," she assured him. "As I mentioned before, I just got back from a trip to East City. I came here right away."

He grunted. "You went to watch the baseball games?"

"Er, yeah. I'm a pretty big Taitans fan."

"Or a pretty big Yamcha fan." Though she couldn't see him, she could hear a hint of jealousy in his tone. She imagined him pouting and rolled her eyes with a smile.

"Well, that too…"

"What do you see in him?" Ayatsuri asked passionately. "What's so special about Yamcha? How'd he get a great woman like you?"

"I don't know," she said, biting her lower lip and crossing her arms under her breasts, pushing them up a little. "I guess I've always liked a little adventure. Someone a little rough around the edges, you know?" She raised an eyebrow suggestively as she turned to face him.

"Yeah, I think I know what you mean," he breathed. "You're a woman who likes risks in her relationships."

"Exactly." Her breath hitched when he moved closer to her, almost like a predator stalking its prey. Vegeta was right, he was totally going to make a move on her. He was going to – oh Kami, would Vegeta let him rape her? She took a step back, only meeting the cold metal of the file cabinets rather than an escape. Frantically she looked up at the security camera above the door, praying someone was watching and would come rescue her. Vegeta stayed where he was, watching disinterestedly. She wanted to call out to him, to request his help, but she knew he would tell her what he had said before, that he was in another world and couldn't stop the man from attacking her if he so chose. Besides, this was all his idea. He _wanted_ her to get molested.

She hardly listened when Ayatsuri told her, "I could give you adventure."

Suddenly she was pinned against the cabinets and Ayatsuri was trailing wet kisses down her neck while his hands pawed her breasts. She closed her eyes tightly and screamed when she felt his erection pressing against her thigh, panic twisting her stomach and speeding her heartbeat.

"Vegeta, help me!"

"What am I?" he said calmly, "Your guardian?"

"Who's Vegeta?" Ayatsuri asked, slightly alarmed. He pulled back for a moment and glanced around the room, but seeing no one he shrugged and resumed his affections.

Vegeta regarded the situation for a moment before looking away. "You could ask him to stop."

By then Ayatsuri had Bulma's skirt pushed up to her hips and he was grinding hard against her, trying to elicit a pleasurable response from her. But Bulma was experiencing no sense of pleasure from this man. "No!" she cried, "Get away from me, I don't want this!"

"Come on, baby," Ayatsuri cooed, "You said you like taking risks. You want adventure."

"Not with _you_!" Bulma twisted around in his grip, trying to get away, but there was nowhere for her to run. He was pressing his weight against her, trapping her there with his arms on either side of her. "Please don't do this."

Ayatsuri was undeterred. He planted a sloppy kiss on her lips, making her nearly gag in response. She turned her head away and screamed again, hoping someone would hear and come into the room before things progressed further. She didn't even care that someone would see her like this, half naked with a man taking advantage of her.

Vegeta walked around until he was leaning against the file cabinets next to her. Still he made no move to help her out of the trouble she found herself in. "Please," she begged, "do something."

The saiyan assessed the situation from his new vantage point and almost laughed. "Woman, would it be so hard to kick the fool in the groin?"

"Huh?" Bulma looked down, which wasn't easy because Ayatsuri was kissing or biting or licking her neck and shoulder. Vegeta was right. She muttered under her breath, berating herself for her foolishness when she saw how easy it would be to free herself; she was no damsel in distress, and she could defend herself when some pervert came on to her. Without hesitation she brought her knee up with as much force as possible and took a great deal of satisfaction from Ayatsuri's grunt of pain. Immediately he hunched over, holding himself, and staggered back a few steps.

"You – you crazy bitch!" he gasped.

Bulma stepped around him, pulling her skirt down as she passed him. "I told you I didn't want it," she sniffed. She checked her clothes to make sure she was decent – as decent as she could be – before dashing out of the room and heading straight for the elevator to go to security.

She slumped against the wall of the elevator and ran her hand through her hair. "Was that really the only way to…" She trailed off into a sigh and closed her eyes. "Vegeta, this had better work."

"It will." Vegeta shoved her forgotten jacket into her hands before leaning against the opposite wall and watching her, surprised when he saw a single crystalline tear slowly roll down her cheek and drip off her chin. "Pull yourself together, woman. Nothing happened."

"It could have," she hissed. "You wouldn't have helped me even if I couldn't do anything."

Vegeta huffed and looked away from the woman. She really was overreacting to what happened – nothing. Perhaps if she had actually been raped she would have something to be upset about, but she wasn't and so she had no right to carry on in this self pity. Rolling his eyes he moved across the elevator and lifted Bulma's chin, forcing her to look into his onyx eyes. Seeing the strength in his eyes made her crumble inside, and finally she allowed herself to cry earnestly until her whole body shook with her sobbing. She tried to look away, to hide her weakness, but Vegeta held her chin firmly. "Woman, how many times do I have to tell you that only I may touch you? You belong to me."

"But – but you said you _couldn't_ do any – anything," she hiccupped. Sniffling, she wiped her nose on her sleeve. "You're not in this world. You couldn't help me even if – if you wanted."

"Woman," he said, "if I cannot affect this world, then how is it you feel my touch now?"

Her eyes widened. He was right, she could feel his warm hand and his breath lightly brushing over her face. A burning fire erupted in the pit of her stomach and spread through her body like bolts of lightning. "You mean you were lying!" she shrieked.

"You ought not learn to rely on me," he growled. "At least, not unless you trust me."

The elevator door opened and Bulma pushed past Vegeta to get out, putting on her jacket as she walked. They were on the main floor of the building where the security office was located behind the reception desk. Bulma roughly wiped the tears from her face and tried to pull her jacket around her tighter to hide herself, but there was little she could do with it. Sighing resignedly, she started toward the security office.

As soon as she entered the office she slapped her hand down on the main desk and shouted, "I want that – that Ayatsuri Ningyō arrested! Immediately!"

The unfortunate security guard who was working the desk jumped and looked up in shock. "What for, Miss Brief?" he squeaked.

"Sexual molestation," she muttered. Her face flushed slightly and she again tugged on her jacket to cover herself more decently. Then, with more confidence, "And I want his background thoroughly investigated."

"Y-yes, Miss Brief," the wide-eyed security guard stammered, "I'll see what I can do." He reached for the phone to call the West City Police Department since arrests were out of the hands of Capsule Corporation security.

Bulma rapped her fingers on the desktop while the man finished the call. When he hung up she told him, "You'll want to keep the surveillance feed from the medical research records room as evidence against him. Fucking pervert!" That said, she turned and stormed out of the security office, trembling with the last remains of adrenaline from her fight-or-flight response.

"How did you know he would do that?" she asked Vegeta once they were alone on the elevator going back up to her office suite.

"He has an affinity for power," Vegeta explained shortly. "And a fetish for your style of attire."

"So in other words," she said, crossing her arms over her chest protectively, "you were pushing him to do it."

"Yes."

She was silent for a minute while she thought that over, watching the numbers above the elevator door light up as they ascended to the top floor. "He wouldn't have acted that way on his own?"

"Not as quickly."

"But he would have?" Bulma hugged herself, a chill running down her spine. The idea of someone wanting to rape her was more than she wanted to think about. She was also left feeling cold and abandoned by Vegeta's casual attitude toward the whole ordeal; it made her see how little he actually cared for her.

"Eventually, yes."

Bulma didn't have any more questions, so she sank into a moody silence, still perturbed that Vegeta would put her in such a situation. She still wasn't sure how this was going to help out Capsule Corporation, but at least it would make Ayatsuri look bad and make her look like the victim. Her heart skipped a beat as realization hit her. She, Bulma Brief, _was_ the face of Capsule Corporation. By making her the personal victim of that creep from the ERB, Capsule Corporation would likewise be cast in the role of victim of the malicious bureaucracy that Ayatsuri represented. She almost laughed, delighted when she figured out Vegeta's reasoning.

"Do you happen to know where the lost documents are?" she asked once they reached her office.

"The originals were destroyed," Vegeta said. "But I do know where the copies are."

Bulma stopped mid-stride and gaped at him. "Destroyed! But how?"

Vegeta shook his head. He didn't want to bother explaining his father's meddling in her affairs. "Concern yourself with the copies."

"If you know where they are, why couldn't you have just put them back in the records room where they were supposed to be?" Bulma asked.

"Not as effective."

"So where are they?" Bulma walked across her office and sat down at her desk, resting her elbows on its glossy surface and folding her hands under her chin.

A sly smirk crept across his face, giving the distinct impression that he was keeping a secret from her. "You'll find out soon enough, little woman."

"Why can't you just tell me!"

"Don't you trust me?" He circled around her, his dark gaze fixed on her. He stopped in front of her desk and awaited her answer.

Bulma glared at Vegeta for a minute before shaking her head and turning her attention to the myriad stacks of papers on her desk. "Should I?"

"Perhaps." Vegeta went to the window and looked out over the city. On the street below he could see a police cruiser stopping in front of the front gate of Capsule Corporation. "You are mine, woman, and I always protect what is mine."

Bulma felt a thrill run down her spine; it wasn't entirely unpleasant. She glanced over her shoulder at the saiyan and gave him a half smile. Maybe he wouldn't come out and say it, but in that moment she knew he would never let harm come her way. With his claim on her, she was untouchable. The cold feeling of abandonment was replaced by a warm sense of protection, the way an embrace from her parents felt when she was a child. His motives might be questionable, but she knew he meant what he said. "I trust you."

…

Bulma looked up from her work when the elevator door opened and a man in a plain brown suit came into her office. "Excuse me, Miss Brief?"

She returned her attention to her computer before answering, "Yes, can I help you?"

"I'm Detective Law. I'm here about your claim against Mr. Ayatsuri Ningyō."

"I see. Come have a seat," she said, gesturing to the chair across from her. "I'm assuming you have enough evidence to make a case against him in court."

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact I found more than I expected." The detective sat down and fidgeted with the buttons of his jacket. "You see, we did a background check and he has a history of stalking. And we found a number of pictures and articles relating to you in his possession."

Bulma glanced sideways at Vegeta, who was standing in front of the window looking out. He didn't react at all, as if it wasn't news to him. Well, it probably wasn't. He may have even been the reason behind Ayatsuri's obsession. Detective Law followed her gaze, expecting to see someone else in the room he hadn't noticed upon entering, but there was no one there. Shrugging it off, he turned back to the company president.

"Really?" she asked. "Is that all?"

"No, actually." Detective Law rubbed his chin. "We also, uh, we found the documents he was supposedly searching for here in his hotel room. We believe he had them all along and created false charges against Capsule Corporation, probably as a means to get to you."

"That bastard," she groaned. "Do you know what he's done to my company these past few days?" Of course he didn't take the documents, she knew that. Vegeta had planted them, but she still felt outrage even knowing the truth. At least she could make the whole thing work in her favor now.

"Yes, I understand Miss Br—"

"Thank you, detective," she cut him off. Standing, she held out her hand to shake. "If you'll excuse me now, I need to attempt some damage control."

Detective Law stood up and awkwardly shook her hand, then turned and left. Bulma sat down and reached for her phone. She needed to contact every major news service in the world and clear her name with a public address. If she played the victim right the global population would sympathize and likely her profits would skyrocket overnight.

She picked up her phone and dialed the number for the biggest news station in the world. After a few rings a pleasant sounding woman answered the call. "Hello, you have reached ZTV. How may I help you?"

"This is Bulma Brief, president of Capsule Corporation. I would like to request a personal interview for this evening."

"Oh – oh my, yes, Miss Brief, I'm sure we can find a time slot for you. I'll speak with the producers right away. Would you please hold?"

"Sure." Bulma leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, resting her feet on her desk. She only had to wait a minute before her interview was confirmed and she was scheduled to come on the air at 7:00 local time.

After a few more phone calls she hung up and giggled gleefully. It was almost too easy. "How did you know all that about him, Vegeta? Or did you just make it all up?" Bulma paused, her eyes widening. "Are you totally omniscient?"

Vegeta shook his head. "Not totally. Only with those who have an attraction to power."

"Wouldn't that be, well, everyone to some degree?"

He grunted. "Surprisingly no."

"Oh." Bulma couldn't explain why she felt disappointed. Was it because she wanted Vegeta only to know her, or was it because she hoped he knew everyone so she would essentially have unlimited access to every best-kept secret in the world? Any information she wanted about somebody would be at her disposal! That would be great, but the former reason seemed to sting more when she thought about it. If he helped her, why couldn't he do the same for another, perhaps one of her rivals in business?

"You said you trust me, woman."

"I – I do. Really."

"I told you you're mine. A saiyan can only have one human. If you trust me and obey me, I will never aid any who oppose you."

Bulma rubbed the back of her neck. "You promise?"

Vegeta scoffed. "You sound like a child. You say you trust me yet you question my every word." Behind his words was the low rumble of a growl, making Bulma wish she hadn't pushed his patience.

"Okay," she said, holding her hands up in surrender, "you're right, forget I asked. And – and thanks."

"Hn." There was no point in telling her he did this not for her benefit but his own. She was foolish to trust him, but she would be much more cooperative if she did.

Bulma smiled weakly for a moment before her lips formed a thin, hard line. "But if you ever betray me –"

"Betrayal is not my compulsion. If it were, I'd be named Turles, not Vegeta."

"I see." Bulma picked up her pen and twirled it around her finger. Vegeta wasn't a great conversationalist. Straight and to the point, at least when he wasn't teasing her or something. Maybe not so bad. Scratch that – he was bad, downright evil in fact, but he was on her side so she was okay with that. She knew she shouldn't trust him and never should have made a deal with him. After all, in the stories where a man made a deal with the devil, he always ended up damned in the end after a rich and glorious life. Was it worth it to live in luxury and burn in hell for eternity? She eyed Vegeta, pondering that point for a while. He exuded power in a way she could hardly put into words. He _was_ power, he was what she wanted, needed. And he was evil. But he would protect her and make her prosper. In the end, she decided, that was all that mattered.

"So what's next on the agenda?" she asked.

"StarKORP."

Bulma smirked deviously, a habit she didn't realize she was picking up from Vegeta. "I was hoping you would say that. What's the plan for this one?"

Vegeta turned to her and mirrored her smirk. "Eliminate them."

She quirked an eyebrow. "How, bomb them?"

He snickered at that. "Or something." Vegeta pulled some rolls of paper out of thin air. At least, that's what it looked like to Bulma. "You could use these."

Bulma caught the papers when he tossed them to her and unrolled them. She saw that they were blueprints and looked them over for a few minutes. "So they're old plans for military-grade automatic handguns. What about them?"

"You patented them."

"Well sure, I patent about everything even if it never goes into testing or production." Bulma rolled them up again. "What do you want me to do with these?"

Vegeta shrugged nonchalantly. "The government is funding StarKORP's research on identical handguns."

"That's impossible! How could they have come up with the exact same thing? I mean, yeah, this isn't our best work, but still!" Bulma laid the rolled-up blueprints on her desk. "I have some calls to make."

Vegeta listened to her first phone call, and, satisfied, decided to return to his realm until Bulma finished her business. Waiting around was boring, and he had an idiotic third-class to beat in a spar. StarKORP would, metaphorically, go down in a ball of fire once Bulma called them out on copyright infringement. Then all she would have to deal with would by the tax auditors from the Global Revenue Agency, which would be so simple she wouldn't even need his help. In less than a day the tables had been turned in Bulma's favor; soon her power would be greater than ever when she made the world see the corruption of the government and criminality of her competitors. Honestly, humans were too easily manipulated. With the right documents placed in the right places, he could make them believe anything he wanted them to. And the fools would trust Bulma Brief because they were even more foolish than she was.

_A/N: I know it took me forever to write this chapter, sorry! I had the idea for it for a long time but I really haven't had the time to sit down and write it. I've been having a hard time staying in the right mindset for it anyway. Who would've thought antidepressants would hinder my writing? Well, whatever. Enough rambling. Review!_

_Beta'd by lilpumpkingirl_


	13. Chapter 12: Proposition

Chapter 12  
>Proposition<p>

Bulma Brief didn't flinch when she felt an ominous presence behind her. At first it had bothered her when she could sense Vegeta near her but not be able to see him, but over the days and weeks it became the norm. Since the day of her return from East City, she had only rarely seen him, but she knew he was almost always with her. Invisible, close yet distant, like a ghost. More like a poltergeist in his case.

Capsule Corporation had been running smoothly in every department and sales revenue was still increasing. Already the company had broken previous daily sales records six days in a row. Her public announcements and live interviews had gone over well, and as predicted she was cast in the role of victim, which helped Capsule Corporation bounce back from its troubles quickly.

Bulma doodled in the margin of a contract with StarKORP for Capsule Corporation's hostile acquisition, her pen darting up and curving down to the right, then squiggling back to the left. She had no design in mind since her thoughts were on other matters, questions she had been entertaining for quite some time now. Questions about her otherworldly benefactor, mostly.

Trusting him was proving to be more difficult than she imagined. She had always thought trusting was a simple choice; you trusted or you didn't, and you wasted no more energy on it. Not so. Deep down she couldn't help doubting her decision. Images of Faust being torn apart by Mephistopheles plagued her mind, flashing like scenes from a movie whenever she closed her eyes. Each time she would snap her eyes open as an involuntary shudder ran its course through her body. She would remind herself, "He's giving me this power. I can back out if I want." But she could never bring herself to back out, not yet. Later, she would do it later, after she had experienced true power. Besides, Vegeta wouldn't rip her body to shreds and drag her soul to hell, would he? _Could_ he? What was he, anyway? What did she really know about him? Not much.

Her pen moved in a jagged line like a flame of fire and dipped down, arching up and down like she was writing the letter 'M.' Finally she looked at her doodle and saw that she had drawn a picture of herself and Vegeta. Her brows creased in confusion as she stared at it. They both looked so happy in the picture, like they actually enjoyed being together. Face burning red, she scribbled the picture out and hastily signed the contract without reading it.

"Did you do that?" she asked testily. It wouldn't be the first time Vegeta had controlled her actions while her mind was out to lunch. She could sense him moving around her, stopping next to her. She imagined him leaning against her desk with that infuriating self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face. From the corner of her eye she could see a sort of shimmering, an almost indiscernible distortion in the air, but there was no form.

"Why would I suggest such a foolish thing as happiness with you?" She heard him ask this, but his voice seemed to rise from the depths of her subconscious rather than where he stood. His words carried a bit of sarcasm, but they still stung with truth.

She frowned and tapped her pen against the desk. "Do you really hate me that much?" she tried to ask levelly, but her voice still wavered slightly.

Vegeta snorted and suddenly she felt something soft and warm wrap around her wrist. For a split second she interpreted his gesture as consolation, but then he jerked her out of her chair to stand in front of him. His outline became clear first, the way her reflection would clarify as the ripples in a pool of clear water died out. An instant later and she felt herself plunging into the abyss of his eyes. While his tail uncoiled from her wrist he raised his hands and cupped her cheeks, leaning forward. She pursed her lips, afraid he was going to kiss her. He smirked, then started laughing in cruel amusement.

"I do not _hate_ you, woman. Hate implies I care deeply about you, wanting to cause your demise. I have no such desire." As he spoke his hands put increasing pressure on her until she felt like he was crushing her skull. All she could do was whimper in fear and pain, putting her hands on his wrists to try pulling his hands away to alleviate the pressure.

"Stop it," she whispered. She saw a bolt of wicked satisfaction shoot across his dark eyes before he dropped his hands to his sides. Bulma released a shaky breath and took a step back from him, rubbing her cheeks gently.

"You're weak," he said, sneering at her. "I could never care for a creature as pathetic as you."

Bulma turned away from him, her hands balling into fists. "You don't care at all? Then why help me?"

He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around to face him again. She winced as his fingers dug into her skin and briefly wondered why he always had to be so rough with her, but her thoughts were interrupted by his words: "Your success matters to me, therefore your well-being matters. I care little for _you_, but I _do_ care about your position in this world."

"At least you're honest," she muttered glumly. She tried to ignore the pain in her heart like it was being pierced with an ice-cold dagger. Cold loneliness froze the blood in her veins. Why did it hurt so much? Why should she care how Vegeta felt about her? As long as he would help her, it was irrelevant if he cared about her for her or her prominence in society. It wasn't as if she cared about him, after all, just the power he could give her. It was a strictly professional relationship between them.

Bulma looked down at her feet and wiggled her toes, free from shoes at the moment but confined to black stockings. She took a deep breath and released it slowly, then looked back up at Vegeta. The intensity in his eyes was unnerving, making her wonder what he saw, what he was thinking and feeling. "Fine, I couldn't expect anything more, could I?" She paused, waiting for some reaction, but she received none. "I mean, it wouldn't be fair to want more from you when the only thing I care about with you is how much power you'll give me."

Slowly his eyebrows rose, then a smirk twisted his lips, revealing the tip of his sharp canine. "And that, little woman," he said, stroking her cheek with his knuckles," is why I chose you."

Bulma swatted his hand away like a pesky mosquito hovering in front of her face. "What does that mean anyway, that you chose me? Since I've agreed to trust you, can't you maybe tell me more about yourself? And saiyans?"

His smirk grew into an irritatingly cocky grin. "You're curious to know if I intend to rend your body to shreds and cast you into hell. No, I don't."

Even as relief cascaded through her in calming waves she blushed when he voiced her foolish fears so plainly. "I didn't really think you would," she mumbled defensively, again looking down at her feet. Shrugging, she glanced off to the side. "I mean, like, what are saiyans? How do you choose humans? Why do you choose humans? How do you get a – a – what do you call it? Compulsion?"

Vegeta brushed past her and stared out the window. He didn't appear to have his eyes fixed on anything in particular, yet he watched something intently. Bulma tried to follow his line of sight, but all she saw was clear blue sky. She wondered what he was seeing that she wasn't.

"Saiyans," he started, bringing her attention back to him, "are beings of another realm. We inhabit the same planet but on a different plane of existence. Along with saiyans is a whole array of species of plants and animals that do not exist on your plane."

Bulma rubbed the back of her neck, processing the information in silence. "Almost like overlapping parallel universes," she breathed in awe.

Vegeta cocked his head to the side. "Perhaps." He shrugged and continued, "For all of human history the saiyans have been choosing humans of a particular drive, a compulsion. It is unknown why or how this practice started, but saiyans cannot deny the call to claim a human."

Bulma crossed her right arm over her chest and rested her left elbow on it, tapping her chin with her finger. "Huh. Why can you see us but we can't see you?"

"The barriers between realms is transparent to us because we can cross them. The only way you can is if we help you." Vegeta reached out, passing his hand through the window. She couldn't see his hand outside. "We can be as much in your world as we want. Most saiyans choose to never enter it physically."

"Why?" Bulma also reached out, but her hand hit solid glass. She was almost disappointed that her hand didn't sink into the glass the way his did.

Vegeta smirked. "Your realm is inferior."

Bulma tried to smack his shoulder, but her hand went right through him. She felt nothing except warmth where he was. "You jerk!"

He laughed tauntingly and disappeared. "Foolish woman."

"Hey! Hey, come back here!" Bulma shouted, spinning around in a circle. "You haven't answered all my questions yet!"

'Should've known he wouldn't tell me everything.' Grumbling, she returned to her seat and picked up the next file to read through in her inbox. The difference in number of papers stacked in her inbox and outbox was staggering, and not in her favor. Well, the day was only beginning; she had plenty of time to get through everything by evening. Assuming she could focus on her work instead of saiyan-human relations.

…

Bulma reached across the table and squeezed Yamcha's hand gently. They were on their first real date since the Global Series, and as far as both were concerned it had been too long. But Bulma had been kept busy at Capsule Corporation and traveling to give news interviews and introduce new technology to the scientific community of the world. She had also had to testify in court against Ayatsuri Ningyō, which ended with him being convicted to 11 years in prison. The guilt she experienced was only vaguely bothersome, no worse than a persistent fly buzzing around the room. Despite all her work, though, and the satisfaction of regaining power and clearing her company's name, she had missed Yamcha and was pleased to finally get a chance to spend some quality time with him.

Yamcha smiled at her lovingly, taking in the beautiful sight of her aqua curls almost glowing in the candlelight, the brilliant gleam in her cerulean eyes, and the shine of her pink, glossy lips. "I've missed you," he said softly. "I've barely seen you lately."

Bulma glanced down at their hands and nodded. "I know, I've been busy. There was a lot of cleaning up to do at Capsule."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, never taking his hand away from hers. "I know, babe, but I wish you had more time for me."

"I'm sorry." She shifted her gaze back to his face and smiled. "Things are calming down at work now, so I should be able to see you more."

Something had changed in Bulma since her stay in East City, but Yamcha couldn't quite pin it down. She had always been headstrong and confident, independent almost to a fault, fiery and passionate, a vixen that ensnared his heart with her charm and quick wit the moment he met her. She was still all of these things, but her spitfire personality seemed almost muted, as if she were standing strong and proud as ever but with the calm assurance that someone stronger was behind her, supporting her. Had she found religion? Yamcha doubted it; perhaps she was simply relying on drugs again? He frowned subtly, almost imperceptibly.

"I – I was thinking," he said. Bulma waited for him to continue, but he looked away and rubbed his hand over his head, exhaling heavily.

Bulma squeezed his hand tighter, reassuring him, urging him to continue. "Yes?"

Yamcha laughed nervously and shook his head. "It's nothing, really. Not a big deal."

She pouted and pulled her hand away, crossing her arms over her chest. "Come on, tell me." Behind her she could feel Vegeta looming over her, making a slight shiver trail down her spine that continued on down her legs and ended as a tingling in her toes. He was upset about something, obviously. Her expression twisted in confusion. When had she started sensing Vegeta's mood, and how? Casting that thought aside for later, she refocused her attention on Yamcha.

"It's just that I thought, maybe, well…" he trailed off, suddenly taking great interest in his fork. He picked it up, examined the tines carefully, attempted to bend one back into place, failed, and set the fork down again, dropping it at the last second so it clanked against the tabletop. He winced and laughed nervously again, rubbing the back of his neck. "We could uh, we could see each other more if, uh, what I mean to say is… if we lived in the same house. You know?"

Bulma raised an eyebrow. "You mean live together?" she asked flatly.

Yamcha waved his hands in front of him. "No, no! That's not, I mean unless you want, I meant we could… get married?" he ended in an uncertain squeak.

Bulma's eyes widened until she thought they might never close again. "You're asking me to marry you?"

"Well, uh… yeah?" Yamcha rubbed his hands together, then rested them on the table. Then he rubbed them together again. Bulma could see sweat marks on the table where his palms had been.

Bulma forced herself to maintain a straight face. "So where's the ring?"

Yamcha stared at her blankly for a few seconds before frantically patting his pockets in desperate search of the ring he hadn't yet shown her. He gasped when he didn't feel it, then blushed a deep scarlet when he realized he didn't have it. "Uh, oh shit. Hold on a minute." He practically leaped out of his seat and ran out of the restaurant to look in his car.

"Okay, Vegeta," Bulma said tersely, "Hand it over." She held her hand out and waited. A few seconds passed during which she felt an increase in Vegeta's moodiness. Then a small black velvet box materialized in her hand. With a roll of her eyes, she spat, "Thank you."

Vegeta sat down across from her, now faintly visible like a prototype hologram. Bulma was surprised to see him, but she knew no one else could. The ever-present scowl on his face was deeper than usual and sparks of violent power shocked the air around him as his body glowed with an ethereal blue light. Bulma almost wished she couldn't see him; though she had known he was upset about something, she hadn't prepared herself to see his raw fury.

"What's wrong?" she asked, now knowing full well what was getting under his skin.

He snarled. "You know damn well what's wrong." She could see his tail lashing at his side like a whip.

Bulma turned the small box over in her hands a few times. "Yeah, I guess I do. You're mad that Yamcha wants to marry me. And you're even angrier that I'm going to say yes."

"You're _mine_," he growled.

"Hate to break it to you," she said snippily, "But I'm still human and I still need companionship that _you_ can't give me. Deal with it!"

Vegeta brought his fist down on the table. Had he been fully in her realm the whole table would have shaken. She could even imagine the clattering of the plates and silverware as they bounced from the force. She looked up at Vegeta, holding his gaze despite the chilling effect his anger had on her. "And you can't stop me."

Vegeta growled loudly, the sound echoing and resonating through her head. "You will not, or I will leave you."

She crossed her arms over her chest, her jaw set stubbornly and eyes narrowed. "You can't. I'm yours, as you continually remind me. You claimed me because I'm the only human who can satisfy your compulsion."

Vegeta scoffed and mimicked her posture. "You know nothing about that."

"Only because you won't tell me!"

"Why should I?" he sneered. "If you intend to marry that fool anyway –"

"He's not a fool!" Bulma yelled. Immediately she slapped her hand over her mouth, horrified when she remembered she was still in a restaurant. Glancing around, she smiled apologetically at the other diners who paused in their conversations to glare at her and her obscene lack of etiquette.

"He's not a fool," she repeated, this time in an indignant hushed tone. She forgot no one else could see Vegeta and so didn't concern herself with the fact that she looked insane having a heated argument with a chair.

Vegeta snorted and shook his head. "He won't make you happy."

Bulma eyed him warily. "And how would you know?"

"Whereas you care only about power," he said, leaning over the table, "he cares nothing for it."

"Maybe that's not such a bad thing," she bit back, pushing her chair back a few inches to escape the shadow of his imposing form.

"Maybe." Vegeta's eyes shifted to the side. A flame of hellfire flashed through them as he turned back to her. "Don't forget what I said."

Bulma glanced over to where he had been looking and saw Yamcha coming toward her with his head bowed and hands shoved deep in his pockets. She turned the little box around in her hands a few more times before setting it on the table and folding her hands in her lap.

"Kami," Yamcha mumbled, taking his seat, "this is so embarrassing. I have no idea where…it…went?" He looked up questioningly when he heard Bulma giggling.

"It's right there," she said, dipping her head toward the table.

Yamcha groaned when he saw it. "You've got to be kidding! It was here the whole time?" He rubbed his hand over his face. "Man, I fucked that proposal up."

Bulma shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah. Why don't you try again and do it right this time?"

Relief washed over him like a splash of cold water after a long game. Nodding dumbly, he snatched the box off the table, slid out of his chair, and knelt on one knee. Grinning, he flipped the box open and held it out to her. "Bulma, will you marry me?"

The question hung in the air, but Bulma discovered she was having trouble making a decision. She wanted to be with Yamcha, but Vegeta's words continued echoing in her mind. Would he really leave her? Would she lose her power? She bit her bottom lip as she hesitantly accepted the ring.

"Yes. Of course." Bulma slipped the ring on her finger and turned her hand from side to side, admiring the glittering diamonds as they caught the candlelight. "It's beautiful."

"I hoped you'd like it."

Bulma smiled and hugged him as he stood up, burying her face in his shoulder when she heard a deep growl that raised the hair on the back of her neck. "I love it. And I love you."

"I love you too, B." His words should have set loose a bunch of butterflies inside, but all she felt was emptiness. Seconds turned to minutes as she waited for them to hatch from their chrysalises in her heart, but they never emerged. She knew then that she had made the wrong choice, but her pride wouldn't let her recant her answer.

'You're right,' she admitted reluctantly to Vegeta.

"Of course I'm right." Vegeta appeared behind Yamcha, an expression of disgust marring his face. Spitting, he turned his back on her and faded away.

'No! Don't go! Oh Kami, Vegeta, come back! I need you!' Tears filled her eyes when she heard no spiteful remark. She had made her choice and she would suffer the consequences. Now all she could hope was for happiness with Yamcha despite Vegeta's warning.

…

Kakarot stood in front of Vegeta, trying to block his path, but he kept getting pushed aside. "Come on, Vegeta, wait! She's right, you know, no one else will satisfy you."

Vegeta only quickened his pace, growling when Kakarot stayed in his path, walking backwards as he tried to reason with him. "Get out of my way, Kakarot. I don't need her for anything. She didn't heed my warning and now she'll pay for her disobedience."

"But Vegeta—"

"Enough!" Vegeta roared. An orb of deadly blue ki erupted to life in his hand, shining hauntingly in his eyes. "Get out of my way, fool. I have lost patience with your insolence."

Kakarot searched his face for some sign of indecision, but all he saw was stubborn determination. Unyielding as always. Kakarot knew better than to try his luck with the prince. "Okay," he sighed, stepping aside, "but I still think…"

Vegeta bumped his shoulder roughly as he passed. "I'll let you know when I'm concerned about what you think. Until then, keep your stupidity to yourself."

Clenching his fists, Kakarot watched him as he stalked away, tail slashing the air behind him. "Why does he have to be like that?" he asked aloud, frustration and exasperation tightening his throat.

"He always has been an obstinate brat."

Kakarot jumped and whirled around, simultaneously dropping to one knee and crossing his right arm over his chest when he heard his king. "My lord, forgive me – I didn't mean to insult…"

King Vegeta held out his hand to silence him. "You have a right to your anger," he said, "and frankly I share it, though for a different reason."

"I don't think it's good for him to leave her."

King Vegeta frowned and shook his head sadly. "Not entirely, no, though I think he has become too attached."

Kakarot nodded slowly, unsurely. "My lord?"

The king was silent as he contemplated something. "You can't let him abandon the human girl. Make him realize his mistake, but I also don't want him with her too much."

"Er…" Kakarot rubbed his head. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"You'll find a way." King Vegeta turned to leave.

"But sir, he won't listen to me!"

King Vegeta waved his hand dismissively. "He'll listen. Just make him think it's his idea."

"But…" Kakarot stood up and rested his hands on his hips, head cocked to the side. Great. Wonderful. Fantastic. How was he supposed to convince Vegeta of anything? If he wouldn't listen to his father, the king, why would he listen to a third-class warrior?

"Think of it as a battle," he advised himself. "A head-on attack never works on him." He sighed. "But I'm terrible at deception." It seemed impossible, but he had to find a way to use honesty to trick Vegeta into believing he reached the conclusion on his own that he couldn't simply leave the woman for a single act of disobedience. So what truth could he use to get Vegeta to see reason through his rage and jealousy? He knew in his heart that marriage was righteous, something sacred and pure, but Vegeta cared little about that. He stood still for a long time thinking about human culture and marriage and what he knew about it, but in the end he decided he needed to do some research. He looked around, peering through the barriers between realms to orient himself in the human world, and headed for the nearest newsstand in the city to start his education on human marriage. Simply by reading the headlines of several magazines and tabloids he made two important observations: the first was that divorce among the rich and famous was expected, yet ridiculed; the second was that weddings were celebrated even if the chance of divorce was looming in the future. Kakarot didn't think this was much to go on, but it was a start in his assignment to push Vegeta back to the human woman.

…

A week had passed since Yamcha's proposal and already everyone in the world knew Capsule Corporation heiress Bulma Brief was engaged to baseball superstar Yamcha Bandit. For once Bulma didn't mind all the talk about her personal life; all the excited reports gave her confidence that she really could be happily married to Yamcha.

But during that week she had not once felt Vegeta's presence nearby. He was gone. Maybe she would have Yamcha, but she was bound to lose her power if Vegeta was as angry as she believed. Probably he was angrier, actually. She was haunted by the vision of him fading away, leaving her life forever. Sometimes she thought it had all been a delusion and she had finally regained her sanity, but he had been too real to believe that theory. She could remember him so vividly it was almost like he was with her again, feeling his eyes chilling her heart or setting her afire with energy and creativity to pour into her business dealings. Over time she found she even missed his alien odor, so strong and masculine, somehow comforting yet invigorating, almost instilling a sense of ferocity in her when she caught the intermingled scent of blood and death on his breath.

"Please come back," she would whisper and press her fingers to her temples as she waited with bated breath, straining her senses until she got a headache from trying to hear him. But no matter how long she waited or how persistently she begged for his return, he never came.

Bulma sat down at the kitchen table after a date with Yamcha, sighing heavily. Her chiffon and satin dress rustled softly as she crossed her legs. "Mom," she said quietly, "do you think marrying Yamcha is a good idea? What if it doesn't work out?"

Mrs. Brief turned from the sink where she was washing the dinner dishes and pulled her yellow rubber gloves off. "Having doubts, sweetie?" She frowned sympathetically and sat down in the chair next to Bulma. "I think that's normal."

"Yeah, I guess so." Bulma leaned over and rested her head on her mother's shoulder. Mrs. Brief put her arm around her and hugged her tightly. "I'm just afraid that by marrying him I'm losing something even better."

"Like what?" Mrs. Brief rubbed Bulma arm soothingly. "You already have everything you need."

Bulma closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet, comforting aroma of sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla that had become engrained in her mother's hair and skin after many years of baking. "You're right. I'm just a little nervous. You like Yamcha, don't you? You think we'll be happy together?"

"Of course, honey!" Mrs. Brief stroked Bulma's hair and kissed the crown of her head. "He's a wonderful man, sweet and charming, very handsome, and very much in love with you."

"You think so?"

"It's the most obvious thing in the world." Mrs. Brief smiled at Bulma when she sat up and brushed some loose hairs from her face.

Love. Wasn't that the key to happiness? Wasn't that the thing many people searched for their whole lives and never truly found? Why, then, wasn't it enough for Bulma to know Yamcha loved her? Loved her for her, not her money or fame or beauty? She forced a smile and nodded. "Thanks, Mom." Bulma stood up and stretched, feeling only a little relieved. Maybe she was being nervous about nothing. She needed to relax and trust her own judgment. If she said yes to Yamcha, there had to be a damn good reason. She loved him! Just because she didn't always feel it didn't mean it wasn't true.

"And love," she assured herself, walking to her room, "is more important than power. Right? Right."

She pushed her bedroom door open and dropped her cheerful façade when she felt loneliness in the room. No more phantom lurking behind her, no more voices in her head, no more frightening shadows on the wall. She was absolutely alone here for the first time in…she shook her head. The first time in a really long time. It should come as a relief. And yet…

"Vegeta," she breathed, "where did you go? Why won't you come back? Can you even hear me?"

No answer. She collapsed on the bed and gave only a half-hearted fight against the tears flooding her eyes. Sniffling, she buried her face in her pillow and cried until she fell asleep.

…

Kakarot dodged a ki beam, throwing himself into a series of handsprings that quickly moved him across the training grounds. Breathing heavily, he only barely managed to duck under a roundhouse kick but was unable to escape the follow-up ki blast aimed at his back. He fell forward and rolled over, crossing his arms over his chest to block Vegeta's next kick.

Vegeta cursed under his breath and landed a few feet away, crouched in a defensive position. While Kakarot staggered to his feet he started gathering ki in his hands. "You should concede, clown," he panted, "before I kill you."

Kakarot rested his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He had been sparring with Vegeta for over three hours, so ending the fight sounded good, but he wouldn't end it by giving up. Once his breathing had almost returned to normal, he straightened and shook his head. "No way. I'll never concede."

"Fool!" Vegeta shot his ki at Kakarot and followed him with it when he leaped out of its path. Tired as the other saiyan was, his ki caught up rapidly and overtook him in a blinding explosion.

"Too bad it wasn't enough to kill him," he spat, walking through the billowing dust to Kakarot's limp body. "How pathetic."

Kakarot wasn't unconscious thought. Groaning, he sat up and shook some of the dust out of his hair. "Wow, that was really good, Vegeta."

Vegeta snarled. "What the hell does it take to knock you out? Your damn skull is too thick."

"Maybe." Kakarot grinned. "Do you really believe she won't be happy with him?"

"I don't know who you're talking about." Vegeta flew high above the training grounds and began gathering energy for another devastating attack.

Kakarot got to his feet and cupped his hands at his side. A blue glowing sphere started building as he prepared his counterattack. "You care about her, don't you?"

Vegeta nearly lost his control over the ki in his hands he was so surprised by Kakarot's question. "You fool, I don't give a damn about a filthy human!" In his rage he released his attack.

"Then why –" Kakarot grunted when he fired his own wave of ki and they impacted in the air between them. "Why are you so mad about her getting married?"

"This topic is not up for discussion!" Vegeta roared, thrusting more energy behind his attack.

"Cause I mean, I figured you would want her to marry eventually," Kakarot ground out. He felt his arms burning as he fought to keep Vegeta's attack in check. "Wouldn't it help her?"

Vegeta pushed even more into his ki beam until he could no longer see his opponent around the bulge of burning energy in the middle. How dare the fool tell him what would help Bulma gain power! He knew nothing about it. Besides, Vegeta was less concerned about the probable rise in power and more about the woman's disobedience. If he told her she couldn't do something, she couldn't do it. But the foolish wench defied him. He wouldn't forgive her. And anyway, how would marriage help her gain power? What a ridiculous idea. Marriage between humans was based on love, and love was well known to be the greatest weakness to infect any sentient being.

Kakarot pulled back some of his energy when he felt less resistance from the other side. Now he could dimly see Vegeta beyond the brilliant light, and he could see a frown growing as his brows scrunched in thought. "Hey, Vegeta?"

The saiyan prince shook his head and looked down at the ground where Kakarot was still holding off his ki. Quickly, he poured the last of his ki into it, watching as it took Kakarot by surprise and swept over him. He remained hovering in the air for some time before dropping gracefully, his boots tapping lightly on the hardened soil near the crater where Kakarot lay unconscious. His tail flicked a few times before coiling around his waist. What a fool, planting annoying thoughts in his head. Annoying thoughts that made too much sense.

…

Bulma had been sitting in her car for nearly twenty minutes parked in front of a small shop. She glanced over at it periodically, almost curiously, then her eyes would dart back to the odometer and her fingers would resume tapping against the steering wheel in a rapid, impatient rhythm. She had no reason to be impatient. She wasn't waiting for anyone. She stole another glance at the shop door. It welcomed her with the assurance that the shop was open for business. She looked away again.

"What the _hell_ am I doing?" she wondered aloud. Kami, she had no idea. She resituated herself in her seat and began tapping her foot to give her hands a break. "Just go in. Sheesh, it's not like I have anything to be afraid of in there."

Sighing, she covered her eyes and released the tension in her shoulders. She was being childish. And why shouldn't she be excited to go in instead of apprehensive? She didn't know. Sometimes she felt like she didn't know anything anymore the way she was always second-guessing herself. "Maybe this isn't a good day to do this." Not that any other day would be better.

'Okay, Bulma, one more minute, then you're going in.' She rested her forehead on the steering wheel and counted the seconds. At sixty she gritted her teeth and lifted her head. Before she could change her mind again she opened her door and stepped out. At that instant a large truck sped by in the driving lane, blowing Bulma's skirt up, which she almost used as an excuse to dive back into her car and drive away. But no – she was Bulma Brief, and she was going to do this!

Smoothing down her skirt, she marched to the shop entrance and yanked the door open. It was like walking into a winter paradise with all the pure white, lace, and glittering jewels around her. The angelic beauty of it stole her breath away. "Wow…"

"Miss Brief?"

Bulma looked over at the woman who had spoken to her. She was very short with platinum blond hair that stopped at her chin. She had soft hazel eyes and a kind smile. Bulma nodded. "Yes, that's me."

"Pleased to meet you," the woman said, shaking Bulma's hand. "I'm Lillie Blanc, but you can call me Lill."

"Hello, Lill."

Lillie turned and made a sweeping gesture with her arm around the shop. "You're free to look around, but did you have any particular style in mind?"

"Not really." Bulma glanced around, overwhelmed by the vast selection.

Lill's smile faltered a little. "Oh. Well then, let's start trying things. Here," she said, guiding Bulma by the elbow, "you can use this fitting room."

"Thank you," Bulma mumbled. With a soft sigh she opened the door and hung up her jacket and purse. "Guess I'll start looking around." She stood in the center of the shop turning in a circle with no idea where to begin. Honestly she didn't feel like beginning at all. She was tempted to grab her belongings and leave without trying a single thing on.

Seeing Bulma's dilemma, Lill pulled her to the nearest rack and started looking through the selection. "What size do you wear, Miss Brief?"

"Uh, four." Bulma, somewhat startled, watched wide-eyed as Lill started pulling a variety of gowns off the racks, carrying them all to Bulma's fitting room and hanging them up. Long before she was done Bulma was holding her face in her hands and shaking her head. 'This is going to take _all_ day.'

Hanging her head, she trudged to her fitting room to start the long process of choosing a wedding gown. If she was lucky the first one would be "the one" and she'd know it without comparing it to any others.

But the first wasn't "the one." Nor was the second, the third, fourth, or fifth. In fact, after the tenth dress Bulma wasn't any closer to finding it. The problem wasn't that she didn't look like a princess in every dress she tried; no, the problem was that she simply couldn't see herself marrying Yamcha in any of them, and she knew the reason wasn't the dresses. She just didn't really want to marry Yamcha. She frowned at her reflection in the mirror and scowled when it frowned back at her. She shook her head. "This isn't the one."

Lill barely managed to hide her exasperation. "What's wrong with this one, Miss Brief?"

Bulma shrugged. "Nothing. I just don't want it." This was pretty much what she'd said about every one of them so far. Not very helpful when trying to narrow the search for the right one. "I'm sorry. I don't think I'm for this today." And probably she never would be, but she kept that to herself.

Lill gaped at her for a moment, then cleared her throat. "Yes, I understand. Would you like to make an appointment for a later time?"

"No." Bulma went back into her fitting room and started tugging the last dress off. Lill rushed in to help her before she ripped it in her struggle.

At first Bulma appreciated the assistance, but soon she felt like she was being forced back into the dress more than helped out of it. "What the hell are you doing?" Bulma growled.

"I might ask you the same thing!" Lill snapped.

"I'm trying to take this thing off!"

Lill paused to exhale slowly through her nose, releasing some pent up frustration. "Then _why_ do you keep pulling it down?"

"I'm not!" Bulma told her acidly. "You're the one doing that."

"I can assure you I'm not."

Bulma felt like her knees were going to give out. "You're not?" She stood still, her head engulfed by white satin and organza. "Vegeta?" she whispered.

"You're a fool, woman." Vegeta flipped the dress back from her face.

"What are you doing here?"

"Excuse me, Miss Brief?"

Bulma turned around and shoved Lill out of the fitting room. "Excuse me for a minute!"

"But Miss Brief –" Bulma slammed the door shut.

"What," she repeated, resting her forehead against the door, "are you doing here? I thought you left me."

Vegeta shrugged and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "I did, but I've changed my mind. As have you, I see."

"I – I didn't – not yet," she finished in a mumble.

He snorted. "And you're not going to. You're going to marry that fool, but not for love; you're going to marry him to save your pride."

Bulma finally turned around to face the saiyan. Her face was flushed and her hair mussed, standing on end with the static from the layers of fabric she had been fighting with a moment earlier. She looked wild. "What the hell! Last I knew you wanted me to yourself! Now you _want _me to marry Yamcha?"

"Yes." Vegeta laughed at her dumbstruck expression. "Were you hoping I wouldn't so you would feel justified in calling off the engagement? You fool, do you know what that would do to your public image?"

"My image?" Bulma slid down to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. "It would be ruined."

He nodded slightly. "In your world image is power. Do you want to lose that?"

"But – but I won't be happy." Bulma tangled her fingers in her hair. "Oh Kami, what do I do? I can't win."

Vegeta huffed. "It would have been better for you to have obeyed me."

"I guess." Bulma groaned miserably and buried her face in the white cloud of fabric that surrounded her. "Couldn't you make him out to be the bad guy?"

"Would you really want me to ruin him?" Vegeta watched her shake her head and scoffed. "You're weak. Besides, marrying him would improve your image more."

She looked up at him. "Why?"

"Humans value family, do they not?" Vegeta pushed away from the wall, his tail flicking as a smirk grew on his lips. "So you will live up to their ideals."

"I'd rather change their ideals," she groused. "Why should I meet _their_ expectations? I'm the one with the power! I should be free from ass-kissing!"

Vegeat crouched down in front of her, his cold onyx eyes holding her captive. "You are an idiot. It takes more than a few well-spoken words to change an entire society's values. It takes years of gradual change, more years than you'll likely live."

Bulma grabbed the front of his shirt and was momentarily distracted from her building rage by her curiously about the stretchy material. She pulled it and watched it pull away from his chest where she held it, but the rest still fit snugly against his body. Shaking her head, she raised her eyes to meet his again. "What's the point of having power if I can't change society if I want?"

"You can change it," he said, pulling her hands away, "but you won't see the change right away. You only facilitate it. Regardless, you're avoiding the point: you are going to marry Yamcha, and you're going to pretend you're happy with him."

Bulma dropped her hands in her lap. "I never was good at faking." She bit her bottom lip. "Seriously, it would be easier to just not marry him."

"You should have thought of that before you blindly accepted his proposal." Vegeta stood and turned away. She watched his tail flick back and forth, reminding her of an irritated cat. "Having power does not free you from the consequences of your choices, woman. You should remember that next time you want to disobey me."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it." Bulma rolled her eyes.

"That's good," Vegeta growled, grabbing her arm and dragging her to her feet," because next time I won't be so forgiving."

Bulma whimpered, rubbing her shoulder she was sure he almost pulled from its socket. "_This_ is forgiving?" she hissed. Her mouth drew down in a frown when he didn't respond. She saw that he was gone. "He could have at least helped me out of this damn dress!"

She looked at herself in the mirror and turned from side to side, reevaluating the dress. She pulled her hair back at the nape of her neck and gave herself a dazzling smile. "Definitely not," she said with a fading smile, dropping her hands to her sides. "It's way too poofy."

Sneering, she threw the door open and shouted at Lillie to help her out of the dress. She spent two more hours trying on dress after dress, all the while wondering why Vegeta couldn't just tell her which one to get if he was so obsessed with running her life. Obedience. It had never been Bulma's greatest strength, but it never even occurred to her that she wasn't obligated to follow his instructions.

_A/N: This chapter wasn't all that hard to write, but it did take time with work and a whole lot of stuff going on in life. But I got it done for you, so enjoy and review, please. And congratulations, if you're reading this you made it through the ides of March!_

_Beta'd by lilpumpkingirl_


End file.
